A Novel Romance Part 1
by southernbellerina81
Summary: Lady Rosamund Crawley is a dreamer, escaping everyday life in novel fueled rich fantasies. However, the discovery of a long buried family secret and the specter of an arranged marriage looming, she fears her ideals of romance and true love may be only the stuff of fiction. Then a stranger forces her to make a choice between happily ever after and the family she can't bear to lose


Chapter 1

The only thought on her mind at that moment was escape. She was running, the destination unknown and unimportant. The thick fog encompassing the moors rendered her blind, save for the prints she left in the soft wet green below her feet. It seemed possible she might have a chance until something caught her ankle and sent her tumbling into the mist. A searing pain shot through her leg and she struggled in vain to stand. She groped frantically for a tree or rock to hoist herself upright then screamed with alarm as her hand gripped a well-muscled arm reaching for her out of the dark haze. She released her grip and tried to stand, only to collapse under the pain of her injured leg where a dark red stain was rapidly mingling with the dirt caked to the bottom of her petticoat. A mate to the intruding appendage emerged to catch her before she reached the ground followed by the remainder of a tall imposing male figure.

"It's all right, I promise I won't hurt you," the smooth cadence of his deep voice reverberated in her ear which had become pressed against a chiseled chest. She looked up into deep blue eyes that seemed lit from above by a halo of golden hair falling across his forehead. Her heartbeat fluttered erratically as she steadied herself on his outstretched forearm. They stood perfectly still for a moment, strangely frozen by the heat of each other's gaze before she managed to murmur, "who are you?"

"I am Lord Michael Worth, Earl of Langley Estate. I just returned home from serving in the cavalry units abroad and wanted to take a walk to re-acquaint myself with my homeland. I was just on my way back to the manor when I heard you cry out. I was expecting to find a wounded woodland animal and instead came upon the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

The fluttering of her heart grew wilder and the intensity of his sky blue eyes seemed to deepen to starlit midnight as he brushed an errant strand of hair from her cheek.

"Are-are you talking about me?" she asked, both terrified and thrilled by his unexpected ardor.

"I don't see any other injured goddesses of the forest anywhere, do you?" He smiled gently down at her. "Pardon my forwardness, but I must know your name."

"I am Lady Rosamund Crawley, daughter of the Earl of Grantham."

He drew her closer until she could feel the pounding of his heart against the ever-increasing palpitations of her own.

"A fitting name for such a lovely wildflower. " He lifted her chin with his thumb and slowly raised her face towards his, whispering, "Rosamund, Rosamund….ROSAMUND!"

The bayonetlike sharpness of her mother's voice sliced through the mist of her daydream like the first shot across an early morning battlefield. Rosamund blinked and emerged from the glorious romance living inside her head. Her hero was replaced by the tiny yet no less imposing figure of her mother, Lady Violet Crawley the Dowager Countess of Downton Abbey.

"Can you please focus, I don't believe you have heard a word I was saying. Your eyes have the same glazed over stare as when your history tutor attempted in vain to teach you the dates of the French Revolution. We are talking about your presentation at court, unlike history or politics, this is actually important."

Rosamund sighed and took a fortifying sip of tea. "All right mother, you have my undivided attention."

Lady Violet, never one to miss the opportunity for a wry aside, remarked, "Aren't I the lucky one."

The next hour flew by at the pace of a glacier passing a tortoise while the Dowager Countess detailed the procedures expected of a young lady presented at Buckingham Palace, the notable names to remember and most significantly, the eligible society bachelors from among whom she was expected to charm into marriage.

"Now the Viscount of Bramley, you'll recognize him by his lazy eye and less than trim waistline, he has the highest title among the young men that will be in attendance. The Duke of Westchester will be there, watching the young ladies come out has been his favorite pastime for the last 40 years but I believe there is some arrangement between him and an Austrian princess so there is no need to waste our time shooting for him. Personally, I think your best target will be the future Earl of Sussex. He is actually one year younger than you and has yet to utter one interesting word in his life but it's the only estate at play that is larger than ours so he is the top contender at the moment."

The season hadn't even begun and Rosamund was already wishing it was over. "You make finding a husband sound like a sport. It's marriage, Mama, not falconery."

Lady Violet narrowed her icy stare at her daughter shrewdly. "You're right, you know. Making a suitable match is not a sport. It's a highly developed art form and right now you are barely an apprentice."

Rosamund couldn't resist a jab she knew would hit home. "And I suppose Robert is the master?"

She could practically hear the air being drawn from the room as her mother's lips flew back into her face, forming a tight line of barely held restraint. The advent of her son's marriage to an American heiress in order to salvage the estate was a particularly sore subject for the Dowager Countess. Being in anyone's debt was not a state to which Lady Violet was accustomed and the fact that it was to an American seemed to add additional insult to financial injury.

"Your father's errors in judgement provide just another example of why we do this. The right match is not only of vital importance to your security but to your family's as well. Suppose something happens to Robert or his wife." Violet avoided using her daughter-in-law's name at all costs. "Suppose something happens to their child. The delicacy of the system cannot be overstated. You must marry someone from the right family with the right position."

"And what of happiness, what of love?" Rosamund countered.

"Honestly my dear, you have been reading far too many novels. The concept of love and happiness in marriage was invented to sell cheap romantic fiction to the middle classes. We have higher ideals, like real estate."

With that parting shot at Rosamunde's beloved Jane Austen who could never be quite dead enough for Lady Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess swept out of the room, preferring as usual for the last words to be hers. A beam of sunlight streamed across the room from the library's tall windows, illuminating the golden engraving on her father's beloved collection of books. The embossed letters seemed to twinkly cheekily in response to Lady Violet's thinly veiled disdain. Rosamund recalled with a sudden unexpected pang the hours she spent as a child lightly combing through the ornate stacks, worlds of travel and adventure at her fingertips. Her father would often leave books of fairy tales hidden amongst his tomes at just her eye level, like buried pirate treasure waiting to be discovered. He would pretend to be just as surprised as she at the mystery of their appearance and together they would happily sit by a roaring fire, he engrossed in the speeches of Damocles and Aristotle, she in the world of King Arthur and his true love, Guinevere. The faint cough of the footman, standing in the doorway like part of the intricate paneling, brought her back from her reverie and she glanced at the clock. Heavens, it was time to dress for dinner.

Rosamund slipped out of the library, unnamed anxiety beginning to twist in her stomach. She passed through the airy hallway, its high arches lit by candelabras and colorfully gilded friezes. Some days she would stop and simply gaze at the lush burgundy carpets and carved columns and wonder what the point of it all was. Grandeur for the sake of grandeur seemed so excessive for a mere home where people lived their day to day lives. Then the portraits on the wall would glare down at her in consternation and she was reminded that Downton Abbey was more than a cottage in the village, it was a legacy of stability and status for the Grantham family going back centuries. Today she ignored her menacing ancestors, too lost in her contemplation of the near future to mind the haunts of the past.

She closed the door to her room, sat down at her mahogany vanity and took a deep breath, hoping to calm whatever storm of nerves she felt brewing inside. Her reflection exhaled in kind and she felt the familiar stab of disappointment she encountered each time she confronted the specter of her own unmet expectations. As a little girl, she would spend so long staring at the mirror, dreaming of how beautiful she would be when she grew up that her stern Catholic nanny would rap her wrists with a ruler for the sin of vanity. That charge could not have been farther from the truth, as Rosamund was still waiting for the fairy godmother to wave the wand over her and transform her awkwardness into loveliness. She knew the day would come, of course, in the stories it always did. Every day she would open her eyes and rush to the mirror, hoping the spell had worked in her sleep. Yet with each year, the vision in the mirror aged but somehow never really changed. Her hair remained a blazing hurricane of red curls unmanageable even for combs from the ivory tusks of the strongest elephant. Her lips and nose were small and thin, just like her extremely petite frame. In an age where the magazines and catalogues were plastered with voluptuously curved fashion plates whose plump lips pouted at her from the pages, these traits were far from desirable. Her eyes were a light blue but overlay with a sheath of silver like an English pond obscured by winter's frost. Her favorite gown in a bright cornflower shade with navy embroidered fleur de lis could accentuate and thaw their brightness but she could still never match the startling foreign azure of her sister-in-law's stare.

Cora Levinson Grantham, her brother's wife, must have arrived for the sole purpose of making Rosamund feel inferior in every way, at least it seemed that way to Rosamund. From her smooth dark hair that gleamed in response to her delicately sculpted features to her kind smile that seemed to invite confidences from even the most austere English aristocrat. Just as it appeared that their fortunes and all hope for the future were lost in the swirling desert sands of her father's fruitless quest for Egyptian treasure, Cora descended from America like an angel of mercy and reprieve. The fact that she was now due any day with her and Robert's first child and likely heir to the estate only added to her irritating perfection. Once in awhile, Rosamund felt guilty that her jealousy, seething just below the surface, prevented her from being more amiable with Cora. While the New York born heiress adapted seamlessly to the unspoken and rigid code of conduct practiced by England's upper crust, Rosamund could occasionally observe an internal struggle to control the unmistakably Western urge to speak her mind. An open then rapidly shut mouth, an abbreviated thought stifled by a warning look from her husband displayed the cracks in what Rosamund knew was a cordial but far from comfortable union.

Rosamund herself suffered from quite the opposite predicament. The rare moments when she was called upon at dinners or parties to voice her opinions, the heat of her furious heartbeat would rise to a flush that stained her face and choked the words from her mouth. Hours later, she would craft the ideal response, witty with a hint of insight but with no one remaining to hear, what good did it do? If only she was able to draft her conversations in writing first. On paper, she was funny, clever, able to turn a phrase with a confidence that completely eluded her face to face interactions. Only with a select few individuals was she able to muster the ease of conversation she felt in writing letters, among them her lady's maid, Elsie Hughes. As though unconsciously summoned, a swift rapping on the door reminded Rosamund that she was supposed to be preparing for the evening meal and Elsie marched into the room with her usual determination of a general charging a field.

"All right then, dearie, it's that time," she trilled, her musical voice lending an instant soothing balm to Rosamund's worries. Elsie was not possessed of any one feature that could be called beautiful but her entire persona seemed to radiate with an infectious twinkle towards which others naturally gravitated.

"I was thinking the cream satin for this evening, the one with flowers on the front of the skirt and the pretty braiding at the neckline." Rosamund knew better than to argue with Elsie's fashion choices, she always managed to find the right combination of gown and accessories that made Rosamund feel pretty no matter what the image in the mirror tried to tell her. Within minutes, Elsie had Rosamund out of her emerald day gown, laced into her corset and was fastening the last of the satin covered buttons of her evening dress. Wrangling her curls into submission was another story and Rosamund knew to sit quietly as Elsie commenced battle with her unruly tresses, muttering Gaelic threats at any strand who failed to fall in line. As she gazed in the mirror, the slowly creeping doubts from earlier began to gnaw at her insides and Rosamund's reflection frowned back at her.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry, am I pulling too hard?" Elsie clucked warmly. "We're almost done here, then it's off you go."

"No, no, it's not that." Rosamund replied. "I just came from another ghastly 'training session' with Mama and suddenly it feels as though the walls are closing in on me, so to speak."

Elsie nodded sympathetically. The downstairs staff lived in mortal terror of offending the impeccably mannered yet terrifying Dowager Countess. The staccato click of her signature gait could send housemaids scurrying away faster than a family of mice who have found themselves trapped inside a lion's den.

"You know, I always thought being presented at court and meeting the queen and all that sounded glamorous and exciting but the more you talk about it, the less fun it sounds," Elsie grunted as she drove a lapis comb into Rosamund's skull like a railroad spike.

"I'm sure the day will be fun," Rosamund said, wincing as the teeth of the comb hit their mark. "You know I love to get dressed up and go dancing. It's just thinking of everything to come after that makes me want to run for the hills. Making awkward small talk with gentlemen at dinner, trying to come off as charming but not overly intelligent. I never know what to say around anyone, let alone a man I'm trying to impress into marriage."

Once the word marriage flew out of her mouth, Rosamund felt a pin prick the balloon of bees underneath her corset and she realized the source of her apprehension. It wasn't the presentation or even the process of finding suitors and courting. It was the goal of marriage and the ultimate demise of her secretly cherished fantasies of romance and true love. As soon as the ring was placed on her finger and her future tightly sealed up, the handsome stranger of her dreams would be denied any hope of actual existence and relegated to the dusty bookshelves of her subconscious. Rosamund accepted that she would have to marry and that love would not be a significant contribution to that decision but the end of the possibility of love seemed worse than the reality of marriage without it. Her only frame of reference was her parents' marriage and now her brother's and while both were compatible matches, something deep in Rosamund longed for more.

Elsie cocked her head to the side, taking in all that wasn't said in the long silence. Rosamund sometimes wondered if mind reading had been a part of Elsie's lady's maid training as she was often able to discern the most hidden thoughts with uncanny accuracy.

"It might not be my place to say," Elsie began carefully. "But I truly believe there is both love and happiness in your future. To be fair, the two may not come from the same place and I'm not saying there won't be sadness either. You know my Great-Granny was a Seer in the Highlands and while I've not got 'the Sight' entirely, I tend to be more right than wrong about these things. Keep your chin up, dearie. You never know what the days ahead will bring."

Rosamund adjusted the single strand of pearls around her neck and clasped her hands momentarily over her heart. Elsie's words had calmed its frenzied palpitations, at least momentarily. Who knows, maybe she would find love at the ball. After all, if it could happen for a scullery maid with one shoe, why not her?

The next two days whirled by in a tornado of gown selections, waltzing lessons and potential title quizzes until at last Rosamund found herself deposited on the steps of the manor house with the servants lined up to see them off. She felt adhered to the stone walkway as footmen buzzed around her, loading up the coaches with an endless assembly line of hatboxes and trunks. Robert and Cora emerged to say farewell as the extremely advanced stage of pregnancy precluded travel. They stood framed by the doorway, a portrait of the beaming expectant Madonna and her devoted Joseph. Robert whispered something in Cora's ear and she smiled, placing a hand on her protruding abdomen. The unusual display of intimacy filled Rosamund's heart with longing and hope that there could be more awaiting her than polite dinner conversations and separate rides through the countryside. One final admonition from the Dowager Countess and the caravan was on its way. Rosamund looked back through the window of the carriage and watched as Downton Abbey grew smaller in the distance, a reminder that this was the first leg of the journey that would end her days at the only home she had ever known. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the velvet cushioned seat, letting her mind wander to the moors and a passion she might only ever experience in her dreams.

No amount of imagination can forestall the passage of time and the day that Rosamund had been simultaneously anticipating and dreading ultimately arrived. In sharp contrast to the buildup of worry she had felt increasing over the last few weeks, she felt an odd calm. Rosamund watched the flurry of activity around her as Elsie unfolded her gown from the trunk and shook it into the air, the pristine white satin billowing like a singular cloud across a clear sky. Her corset laces were strung tight enough to squeeze the life out of any remaining butterflies in her stomach and she walked stiffly around the requisite nine foot train to step into her gown. Elsie and another lady's maid pulled the diaphanous silk sleeves up to just below her shoulders and Rosamund turned to face the mirror as they buttoned her in. Even her own hyper-critical inner monologue was silenced as she barely recognized the elegant creature before her eyes. A delicate snowy ruffle of lace fell from just below her collar bone to her navel and silver thread embroidered in a starburst pattern sparkled over her waist and down the front of the skirt. Layers of the creamy fabric fell in gentle waves to her feet where the same pattern danced over the matching shoes that were certain to become her worst enemy by the end of the night. Elsie fussed like a mother hen over her little chick as she adjusted the pearl encrusted flower headpiece on top of the gleaming curls arranged in coils on the back of her head. Rosamund clutched the bouquet of peonies in her gloved hands and hoped that she would be able to remember forever this one moment where she felt truly beautiful for the first time in her life.

This unbalancing sense of confidence lasted until she was standing in line at Buckingham Palace in a sea of young ladies from the finest families across England, each one more exquisite than the last. Her mother's frantic exhortations from the last few weeks pounded in her ears. "Full curtsy, knee barely to the ground but not touching. Kiss the queen's hand when offered, lightly pursed lips-no, no, Rosamund, don't get up too soon. Hold your position as though your life depends on it until her royal highness dismisses you, then rise slowly but not too slowly and back away. Turn your back on a royal and you might as well walk straight to the Tower and I'll put your head on the spike myself." Rosamund gave a slight shake of her floral laden head and tried to breathe as deeply as Elsie's expertly torturous corset lacings would allow. She focused on the lace patterned veil of the girl preceding her, trying not to let the candlelight dancing off the burnished oak walls increase the sensation of the earth spinning out of control. One by one, each young lady passed through the doorway to the queen's drawing room only to disappear into the buzzing hive of well dressed ladies and gentlemen of the court. The image from one of her pirate novels of a ritual sacrifice of longhaired virgins being swallowed by a cavernous volcano popped into her head and she felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch uncontrollably. A terrifying nervous giggle began to take life in her belly and Rosamund summoned every ounce of her resolve to suppress it. A flying leap into a volcanic eruption would be preferable to facing her mother's wrath if she giggled or worse yet, hiccoughed in front Her Royal Highness. The forward motion of the final white clad figure before her provided a blessed sobering tonic and Rosamund channeled her all her energy into putting one foot in front of the other as she heard her name echoing through the chamber.

Chapter 2

Rosamund's predictions about her shoes proved painfully accurate as a scarlet clad officer spun her through the final notes of a bouncy Viennese waltz. He was of such a height that the potential of her eye being gouged by the sparkling 5 pointed medal on his chest posed a constant risk with each bob and sway. Despite the threat of facial maiming and the very real blood seeping into her slippers, Rosamund couldn't remember the last time she felt this exhilarated. The combination of relief and Lady Violet's approving nod at the end of the ceremony made an intoxicating cocktail and she threw herself into each dance with triumphant exuberance. She had made it through the day without any embarrassment and the unexpected kindness of the Queen's smile lifted Rosamund into the clouds where she felt she was still hovering as the orchestra slowed to a quiet minuet. She bowed politely at her towering partner and turned to walk back to her seat, adjusting her neck which had grown stiff from craning upwards. She finally understood why so many of her beloved heroines fell in love at first sight at royal balls. Whether it was the glitter of the chandeliers above or the warmth of a firm male hand on the small of her back, somehow even the Viscount of Bramley seemed to carry himself with something resembling gallantry tonight. As though manifested from her thoughts, none other than the Viscount himself caught her eye and began using his considerable girth to press through the crowd towards her. Not even the most forgiving of twilight magic could induce Rosamund to a second twirl around the dance floor with his hot breath on her ear and his one good eye locked lasciviously on her cleavage. She looked frantically about for an exit and spied a balcony tucked away in the far corner of the ballroom. She ducked through the sea of white silks and black tuxedoes as deftly as her throbbing feet would allow and stole past the tall golden drapes into the night air.

Her refuge was a marble semi-circle, jutting out over the parade of waiting coaches on the tree lined drive below. Rows and rows of lights from London's endless expanse of buildings winked in the darkness above a layer of fog rising from the streets. Rosamund closed her eyes and inhaled the night air, embracing the first moment of quiet she had found all day until suddenly a familiarly offputting voice shattered her solitude.

"Pardon me, have you seen Lady Rosamund Crawley? I swear I just saw her over here but a moment ago." The Viscount was proving as persistent as one of their hunting dogs and Rosamund was beginning to feel an uneasy resemblance to a grouse in an oak. She crouched down behind a carved marble angel and prayed that its protection was more than spiritual. An endless moment passed before the echo of the Viscount's high nasal drone seemed to be moving off the scent. Rosamund placed her hand on her stone savior and started to elevate into a standing position as gracefully as her silken layers would allow when another even more unwelcome sound emerged onto the balcony.

"Dear me but that fresh air feels divine. I can't remember the last time I was in such a crush of people. It seems like they're letting just about anyone be presented at court these days." That voice could only belong to Lady Clarabel Hampton, the second daughter of an extremely wealthy baronet. She was renowned for her sharp fashion sense and just as razorlike tongue. With sleek golden waves of hair and a figure that would make the original Gibson girl weep with envy, she was undeniably stunning and rumored to be betrothed to an Italian prince. Their limited encounters at dinner parties had never been anything but outwardly pleasant, yet Rosamund always walked away from a conversation with Lady Clarabel with the sensation that something sharp was sticking out from between her shoulder blades. The feeling of being helplessly treed was growing stronger by the minute.

"Can you believe Mary Smithson was here? Her father is only a barrister and her mother was actually a seamstress before they got their money. Of course, you know the money only came from helping several members of Parliament who got tied up in that American scandal with the counterfeit bills."

Rosamund recognized a second voice as Jane Courtney, a family whose ties to the royal court went back to the War of the Roses. What they lacked in financial clout, they more than made up for in intimate connections with the highest echelons of society throughout most of Europe. The Courtney family's ability to acquire and leverage the secrets of these connections was more valuable than any currency on the continent. Jane used that currency skillfully to secure her friendship with Lady Clarabel like a barnacle latches itself to the hull of a ship. This was positively the last duo on the planet by whom Rosamund would want to be found awkwardly crouching on a balcony floor and she concentrated very hard on breathing and swallowing as little and as silently as possible.

"The poor dear, the way her ears stuck her veil out from her head, I would think she could fly to the States on a good stiff breeze," Lady Clarabel sniggered haughtily. "Of course, I believe anyone who has to sink to relying on the Americans for money deserves what they get. Look at the Crawley family and poor Lord Robert." Rosamund felt her heart being to pound so loudly in her chest that she was sure it would be the cause of her discovery.

"I was certain he would propose to you," Jane purred obsequiously. "It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that he was mad for you at the Stanwick Christmas party last year. Can you imagine how crushed he must have been to give you up for that American heiress? I even heard that her father was Jewish but the Crawley family was so desperate for the money to save Downton that they couldn't afford to have scruples about such things anymore."

Rosamund felt a sudden flush of complicit shame, remembering that she had harbored likeminded reservations about Cora's background when they learned of her father's heritage. However, hearing her family's name dragged through the mud made Rosamund's blood run hot in her veins and a rush of protective anger prompted the urge to push her weighty hiding place directly on top of their snobbish heads.

Lady Clarabel sighed dramatically. "He was, wasn't he? And so handsome, I was almost tempted to enter a courtship with him but then again, who in their right mind would turn down a castle in Venice for a tiny country estate like Downton Abbey. "

"Lord Robert must have been devastated when he realized that his father lost everything looking for that Pharaoh, King Toot or whatever his name was. To give up you, his true love, to save his family," Jane simpered. "It's just like Romeo and Juliet. His life must be so miserable now."

"Well, I certainly hope they aren't relying on Rosamund making a good marriage to further restore the family's reputation. Did you see that gown she was wearing? No one is wearing ruffled collars anymore, she must have been absolutely mortified when she saw that everyone else was wearing the dipped neckline," Lady Clarabel sneered, shattering Rosamund's happiest memory of the day.

Jane clicked her tongue conspiratorially. "As though their reputation could ever be salvaged after what happened to her parents in Russia. That family will never rise above their little farms after that fiasco."

"What fiasco?" Lady Clarabel asked eagerly. Rosamund could practically hear her salivating at the anticipation of unheard scandal.

"Why didn't you know?" Jane said with all the ravenously feigned innocence of a wool clad wolf in a sheep pen. "It happened years ago, when Robert and Rosamund were barely out of the nursery. The late Lord and Lady Grantham were on an extended trip to Russia, I'm not sure why but apparently while they were there, she had an affair with a married Russian prince!"

Rosamund gasped but fortunately so did Lady Clarabel. She clapped her hand over her mouth and listened intently.

"You're joking!" Lady Clarabel seemed to be in a rare state of legitimate shock. "How have I not heard this before?"

"It happened so long ago and frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if they paid people off to cover it up." Jane replied. "My aunt was married to the ambassador of Russia at the time and they saw the whole thing unfold. Lady Violet Grantham was shamelessly besotted with the prince. They danced together at every ball, went for private sleigh rides around his palace, moonlit walks around the lakes. My aunt told me that they tried to run off together but the prince's wife caught them just as their coaches were about to depart for the docks and the two women brawled in the street like common, let's just say, ladies of the evening. They returned home in disgrace and carried on in public as though nothing happened but it was all London could talk about until the Jubilee."

"Do you think Rosamund has any idea?" asked Lady Clarabel, answering herself. "No, she can't possibly or there is no way she would even be here, let alone flirt shamelessly with the Viscount of Bramley all evening. No man from any decent family would even come close to aligning themselves with that kind of talk, especially not for someone so very ordinary looking."

And with that parting shot in the heart to their unseen captive, their titters faded into the hum of the crowd inside. Rosamund sat in the silence, frozen as still as her seraphic companion. In contrast, her mind was racing wildly with innuendos and images too disturbing to put into words. Surely, these were just unfounded rumors, the byproduct of the boredom and overactive imaginations running rampant at court. Yet, as the frenzied pictures in her head coalesced with the memories of her childhood, the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. She remembered the palpable tension between her parents upon their return from a long voyage, the abrupt removal of beautiful Russian antiquities from the library, overheard whispers at dinner parties in her adolescence. She had often marveled in the last two years at her mother's grace and acceptance of her father's financial negligence that had put all their futures in peril but now she understood. It was not an out of character demonstration of Christian magnanimity, but rather atonement for the sins of the past. A shot of rage coursed through her body and afforded her the impetus to at last stand and make her way dazedly back to the ballroom. She paid no heed to the crush of gaiety still moving about her but moved blindly against the wall. Just then her mother materialized from the throngs, her usual coolness replaced by a mixture of concern and irritation.

"There you are, Rosamund," she called out shrilly. "Where in heaven's name have you been? I have been looking everywhere for you. We just received an urgent telegram. Cora's time has come, we must return home immediately. The doctor has said there are some complications."

Rosamund nodded numbly and followed her mother down the hallway and out the door to their awaiting coach, the footman attempting in vain to throw a cape over the hastening Dowager Countess's shoulders. They tucked their voluminous skirts around themselves before the doors slammed shut and with a swift motion from the driver, the horses sped off into the night. Rosamund shifted uneasily in her seat and tried to look anywhere but at her mother. Never one to betray any outward signs of emotional distress, Lady Violet's face was expressionless as she gazed out the window but the rapping of her reticule against her knee belied her pretense of serenity. Giving birth was a dangerous business and the survival of an heir to Downton was crucial to the continued existence of their lifestyle and legacy.

Given the information she had just inadvertently acquired, Rosamund couldn't help but notice the irony of the situation. All of her mother's focus and energy had been devoted to maintaining the estate within their family, no matter the cost, yet she had allegedly once been willing to throw it all away for a Baltic fling. At that moment, the realization hit Rosamund that her mother had done more than invite scandal and humiliation with an ill-advised romance. She had very nearly abandoned her family, her children. While the Dowager Countess had never proved the model of motherly nurturing and affection, Rosamund had never before doubted that her mother loved her and her brother. In an instant, the images of her childhood splintered and cracked like a single rock hitting the window pane of a happy family home. It had all been a lie, every maternal pat on the head, every shared laugh over Robert's dinner table quips. Rosamund clenched her satin gloved fists in silent fury. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to leap out of the moving carriage and run away into the darkness but she had no choice but to sit and wait, trapped by the closed doors of the coach and the treacherous revelation of a truth that she could never deny.

Chapter 3

The carriage jerked to a halt and Rosamund's head rebounded against the seat. She had fallen into a restless sleep, plagued by visions of her mother dancing in the arms of a bearded man in imperialist uniform, her father's handsome face contorted by rage, a diamond tiara flung to the snowy ground amidst the sound of a woman screaming in a foreign tongue. The momentary relief she felt upon awaking dissipated when Rosamund remembered with a bitter stab the all too real inspiration for her nightmares.

"Rosamund, what are you doing just sitting there?"

The Dowager Countess paused at the top of the stairs to scold her daughter. Her mother had barely waited for the coach to stop before pushing open the door and jumping out of the still jostling carriage to brush past the footmen who were no match for an anxious Lady Violet. A sickening lurch in her gut reminded Rosamund of the reason for their early departure from London and she scrambled to extricate herself from the silken cocoon of petticoats that had twisted around her legs. She smiled gratefully at the young footmen who pulled her free and rushed to catch up with her mother.

Their young butler, Carson, was waiting for them at the entrance. Carson was tall with a shock of thick dark hair and even more voluminous eyebrows. He wore a stern expression that Rosamund assumed he had possessed since birth and his habit of appearing stealthily into rooms when least expected kept the household staff quite literally on their toes at all times. Their old butler, Donahue, had unexpectedly given his notice two weeks after the late Earl's passing, leaving them in a difficult predicament as no estate of that size could be expected to run without a butler at the helm. Rosamund suspected that having to take orders directly from the Dowager Countess may have been a factor in his abrupt exit and finding his replacement had proved no easy task. Perhaps due to the demanding nature of Lady Violet's reputation, the pool of applicants had been surprisingly small. Charles Carson arrived at their doorstep with very limited experience but with the impeccable manners and commanding presence to satisfy even the Dowager Countess's impossibly high standards.

"Your Ladyship, Lady Rosamund, I trust you received my telegraph," Carson greeted them in his rich baritone. "His Lordship sent for the doctor this afternoon but I hesitated to attempt to reach you until we received further details regarding Lady Cora's condition."

"Mother, thank goodness you're here."

Robert Crawley burst into the foyer, his brow creased with concern. Like Downton Abbey itself, the young lord was built of sturdy construction, with broad shoulders and a determinedly sharp point at his chin. His eyes contained the same steely resolve as his mother's but his handsome smile was the mirror image of his father's and its glow never failed to bring Rosamund both comfort and a sense of loss. That smile, however, was nowhere in sight and the young lord who was normally the pillar of strength on which they could all rely was pacing the carpet with alarm.

"I'm so sorry to bring you both away but I feared I should lose my mind waiting here alone. The feeling of being utterly helpless is driving me mad, if it weren't for Carson here keeping me plied with brandy and tea, I don't know what I would have done," Robert exclaimed.

"Has the child arrived, are they all right, what has Dr. Pierce said?" Lady Violet peppered Robert without stopping for breath.

Robert put his hand on his mother's shoulder as though to steady them both. "I haven't heard a cry yet so I don't believe the baby is here and I know very little. Dr. Clarkson-"

"Dr. Clarkson?" Lady Violet interrupted, her eyes suddenly wide with distress. "Why he's just a baby himself, why on earth didn't you send for Dr. Pierce?"

"Dr. Pierce is in London for his niece's presentation. We thought we had at least two weeks to go so he didn't feel the need to stay around. Besides, Dr. Clarkson is Dr. Pierce's resident and successfully delivered the last three babies born in the village. He may be young but I feel quite confident in his skills."

Lady Violet made a noise that clearly indicated her lack of inclination to agree but a look from her son prohibited any further discussion of the matter. Robert was the only individual alive who could lock horns with the Dowager Countess and emerge victorious. At that moment, the debated doctor descended the steps and made his way towards the anxious congregation.

"Your ladyship, Lady Rosamund," Dr. Clarkson made a small courtly bow before turning to Lord Robert who appeared ready to leap out of his skin. "Lord Grantham, you have a beautiful, healthy baby girl."

"And my wife?" Robert croaked, barely able to get the words out for fear of the answer. "Is my wife alive?"

Dr. Clarkson smiled but his eyes were somber. "Yes, Lady Grantham made it through splendidly. It was a complicated birth and very fortunate that you sent for me when you did. In very rare cases, the placenta which provides the baby with nutrition begins to detach from the womb during delivery. I believe this is what caused the excessive bleeding the midwife noticed. If undetected, the condition can be fatal to both mother and child. Lady Grantham lost a significant amount of blood but I expect her to make a full recovery. She must stay in bed for the next month to be safe and even after that, she will require lots of rest."

The color drained from Lord Robert's face and he blinked several times before asking quietly, "Is it possible to see them? I don't wish to put my wife or my child at risk if they are still too delicate."

"Yes, you may but only briefly. Lady Grantham must not be taxed after the ordeal." The doctor's eyes regained a bit of their usual merry twinkle. "She was asking for you as well."

Lord Robert practically sprinted towards the staircase before abruptly spinning on his heel and striding back to the foyer. He clasped Dr. Clarkson's hand in both of his at once and gripped it with all his strength.

"I can never thank you enough, Doctor," he breathed with relief and gratitude. Then he was gone, bounding up the steps two at a time like a child at Christmas.

Dr. Clarkson watched Lord Robert disappear before speaking in a sober tone to Lady Violet.

"I did not wish to further disturb his Lordship after such a trying night but I must impress on you the seriousness of what occurred tonight. It is only by sheer fortune that both Lady Grantham and the child survived. It is very rare indeed that a birth under these circumstances ends happily. I did everything I could to deliver the baby quickly to save them both but in doing so, Cora's body underwent a great deal of trauma. There will be impact on any future pregnancy, although I cannot specify to what degree. I would strongly caution his Lordship to very carefully weigh the risks if they desire another child."

Carson handed the doctor his coat and hat which he tipped at the Dowager Countess and Rosamund before proceeding wearily out to the waiting coach. The two ladies stood for a moment, thunderstruck by the information they had just received, before following Robert at a more sedate pace. Lady Violet softly rapped at the door and a weak voice from within called, "it's all right, come in and meet our daughter."

The room was dimly lit by only candles on the end tables and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Cora was propped up in her enormous bed by multiple pillows, a single braid falling over her shoulder and down her white dressing gown. She had the look of one over whom a shadow had paused and then passed. In her arms, a bundle of linen blankets stirred and revealed a small head of thick dark hair. Robert stood next to the bed, staring at the pair in complete rapture. The littlest pink hand reached upwards to stretch and he knelt on one knee at the edge of the bed and reached out his finger to stroke it. The baby grasped her father's finger with unlikely strength and Rosamund watched the tower of dignity that was her brother crumble before her eyes. Cora smiled up at him and he gently kissed the top of her head, his hand still gripped by his daughter's tiny powerful fist. Rosamund felt an unfamiliar ache throb in her chest as the force of genuine love emanated from the new family. Robert was looking at Cora holding his child as though nothing else in the world mattered and she wondered if anyone would ever look at her in that way. The awful memory of the night's earlier humiliation crashed its way into her mind and Lady Clarabel's words echoed, taunting the hope that had risen in her breast.

"No man from any decent family would even come close to aligning themselves with that kind of talk, especially not for someone so very ordinary looking."

She was running, although this time the escape was not in her imagination but rather from it. She fled out the front door and cut across the path into the fields. The conjured image of a grim faced London bureaucrat or banker forced to ignore her sullied reputation in hopes of a title at the end of the aisle followed her wherever she ran. She felt the sobs rising in her throat and searched the rolling landscape for a spot on the estate that matched the desolation in her soul. An Etruscan temple beside an ancient cemetery seemed appropriate and she trudged through the grass towards it, tears rolling one after the other down her flushed cheeks. She collapsed on the cool stone bench beneath the white dome arching towards the night sky. She could hear nothing except the occasional chirp of a field cricket and set free the torrent of emotions that had been roiling inside for the last several weeks. This night's eavesdropping provided the ideal catalyst for an unbridled explosion and Rosamund wept with abandon, oblivious to her surroundings until the sound of a masculine cough hushed her with a gasp.

"I'm terribly sorry, I don't mean to intrude but are you all right?"

Rosamund lifted her face from her arm, the tears still streaking their course towards the damp lace on her neckline. A very tall young man stood before her on the steps of the gazebo, his hands clasped politely behind him but sincere worry etched across his face. He had long sandy brown hair that fell across one side of his forehead and kind eyes of the deepest blue she had ever seen. A long straight nose and a wide mouth set above a clefted square chin lent a reliable honesty to his features. Long arms and legs were clothed in a dark brown tweed that appeared to be two sizes too large to cut well against his thin but well-built shoulders. He was far from the Apollonic hero of Rosamund's fantasy but there was a reassuring charm in the way he seemed to care so deeply for the well-being of a perfect stranger.

"I'm fine, really, I am. It was just…" Rosamund paused, hunting for a sane explanation for her hysteria, "just a really long day."

The stranger fished around his front pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He handed it to her wordlessly, his stillness propelling Rosamund into a stream of nervous chatter.

"I was presented to court today, you know, that's why I'm dressed like this," she explained, tugging at the elaborate gown that was by now ruined by her trek across the grounds. "We, that is my mother and I, have been preparing for it for weeks and we were in London and saw the queen and went to the ball then we had to leave early because Cora, my sister-in-law, was having her baby and there were problems. They are fine now, both of them, but it gave us quite a scare, my brother was nearly beside himself really and I don't know, I suppose it was all a bit too much for one day and I just needed some space so I decided to, erm, go for a walk and well, here we are." Rosamund felt certain that the good-looking stranger was ready to wire the local asylums to report a missing inmate.

"I see," he stated simply, a smile burgeoning to reveal a row of white, even teeth. "That does sound like a bit of a day. I'm just in from London myself, although for much less exciting reasons. I was over visiting my brother, Charlie. He works at the Abbey."

Rosamund struggled to remember any of the servants' Christian names but was embarrassed to realize that Elsie Hughes was the only one she had engaged in any conversation lasting over a minute. Then the stranger's finely cut jawline and high forehead struck a chord and she realized to whom he bore the very faintest of resemblances.

"You're Carson's brother!"

His smile deepened at her recognition and nodded. "Frederick Carson, at your service, milady. Although, I confess it's a bit odd to hear him called 'Carson,' at home we're just Charlie and Freddie, when we're behaving that is. I won't repeat what Mum used to call us when we weren't, which was a good deal of the time as lads."

Elsie let loose a small giggle at the idea of the stately Carson having a nickname.

"I can't imagine having him for an older brother. I don't think I've ever encountered anyone more serious."

"Well, he wasn't always so serious." The smile faded from Frederick's face. "He used to be quite the cut up when we were boys. We would get into the most awful scrapes but he could always make Mum laugh so hard she would forget why she was mad at us in the first place. Then Father's health grew poor a few years back and he had to leave the thea-ahem, I mean, the things he loved to go into the service and help with the expenses. From then on, it was all work and no fun for Charlie and for the rest of us too."

"Are you in service as well?" Rosamund asked.

"No, I'm set for a different path. I'm studying literature at Oxford. That's actually why I'm here, Charlie is helping to pay for my tuition, on the understanding of course that I will pay him back shortly after graduation. I was just on my way back from meeting him to pick up the lot for this term and thought I would take a stroll under the stars. It seems now rather fortuitous that I did." At that he crinkled his eyes slightly at Rosamund who felt sure her face was now a less than flattering shade of vermillion.

"That's awfully nice of him to help you that way. I'm not sure my brother would be as gracious about assisting me," she replied trying to divert the conversation away from their initial meeting.

His lips tightened slightly.

"I'm not sure gracious is the right word. If my brother believes in one thing above all else, it is the call of duty. I was meant to go into the clergy but our pastor noted I had a knack for comprehension and creative expression whilst studying the Scriptures and recommended I test for University. Since our Father could no longer work on the farm, Charlie took the responsibility for our entire family upon himself and never misses an opportunity to remind me of it. I realize he is shouldering the burden for now but sometimes I think being made to feel you ARE the burden is just as cumbersome."

Rosamund sprang to her feet in commiseration.

"I know exactly what you mean! My brother has always believed that it's his job to take care of everyone else but apparently the job description involves informing everyone else what to do with their lives and woe betide you if you dare disobey. It was bad enough when we were children but he has gotten particularly self-important since our father passed away."

"They must hand out an instructive pamphlet to the oldest siblings when the youngest are born that details their Divine Supremacy in All Matters," Frederick chuckled before taking a more serious tone. "I am sorry to hear about your father. It sounds as though you miss him terribly."

She could feel the tears that had finally dissipated begin to prick at her eyes once again. Rosamund swallowed hard before saying, "I really do. Out of everyone in my family, I was the closest to him. We used to read together and take horseback rides around the lake in summer. He was the only one I could really talk to about everything. Robert and I were never exactly what you would call chummy and mother" she stopped herself before she could pour out all the pain of her mother's indiscretions. "The less I say about my mother right now, the better."

Frederick bobbed his head in understanding that there was more to be explained than she cared to at the time.

"'Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family may be,'" he quoted blithely.

It took Rosamund less than a moment to place the quote.

"Why, that's Jane Austen! She's one of my favorite authors."

Frederick tucked his chin down and looked back at her bashfully.

"Mine too. I have spent the last year at Oxford studying the great works of literature from all civilizations over the last several centuries and yet when I want to feel at home, I always come back to Jane Austen. The world she details is one I feel I have inhabited before without ever having to take a single step beyond my room. Her characters are just such friends, I can never feel lonely after having read one of her novels."

Rosamund had never felt such an instant camaraderie with someone she had just met. She felt the hairs on her neck rise and shivered involuntarily.

Frederick blinked and seemed to straighten himself out of the connection they had just shared. "My goodness, how remiss of me. You must be catching a chill in the dampness of the air. Please take my jacket and allow me to escort you back to your family at once. Where are you staying?"

Suddenly, Rosamund understood that he had no idea who she was and admitted with reluctance, "I live at Downton Abbey. My name is Lady Rosamund Crawley."

He took a step back in alarm.

"Good heavens, you must forgive me. I truly didn't know with whom I was speaking or I would never have been so familiar. Whatever you do, please don't take my ill-mannered behavior as a reflection of Charlie, he really is the superior brother, a fact to which he will gladly attest."

Rosamund brushed aside his protestation with a dismissive wave.

"Surely you don't think I would believe any of that now. You've been grand, especially given my, uh, previous state of distress. Honestly, don't think anything of it, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a conversation more."

Frederick's shoulders lowered from the earlobe height to which they had risen and he offered his elbow with exaggerated courtliness. Rosamund laughed as she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they made their way back to the manor house. They walked in comfortable quiet, looking up at the sky that was blanketed with glittering stars. Even the Queen's diamond tiara couldn't have shone as brightly over the peaks of pine trees that were softened to blurry shadows in the forgiveness of night. He stopped at the garden gate before the walkway began and once again placed his hands behind his back.

"I feel this is where I should leave you. I most certainly want to see you home safely but I fear that if we were seen together at this late hour, there might be talk of an inappropriate nature and I would never wish that upon a young lady as lovely as yourself," Frederick bent forward to speak in a hushed voice.

Rosamund felt a surge of disappointment at the prospect of seeing him leave and before she even stopped to consider the socially acceptable way to ask she burst out, "When can I see you again?" before biting her lip and instantly regretting her embarrassing boldness.

He furrowed his brows and lifted his chin to look down at her, as though unsure she was teasing him or sincerely requesting a second meeting. He seemed to decide on the latter as he replied, "I'm not sure that would be the best idea, Your Ladyship."

She rolled her eyes at the formality.

"Anytime someone calls me that I am struck by fear that my mother is standing right behind me. Please call me Rosamund, and since when is it against the rules to go for a walk with a new friend? It is 1891, after all!"

Once the words were out of her mouth, she knew that it was in fact very much against the rules but somehow that didn't seem quite fair or right.

A grin creased Frederick's cheek with a delightfully placed dimple.

"I can't find any reason to argue with such unassailable logic. I must return to Oxford for exams this week but then I am home for the summer once this term is done. If I were to stop to pay a call to my brother and find that he was too busy with his job to join me for a walk in the fields, would you be so kind as to be his substitute? Say, Tuesday the tenth around two o'clock?"

A feeling leapt within Rosamund's heart that could only be described as giddiness and she pressed it down to answer calmly, "Yes, I'm sure I could oblige."

With that formal exchange completed, Rosamund bobbed in a brief curtsy before turning to head down the path. However, before she made it halfway down the walk, she couldn't resist stopping to glance back at her new acquaintance. He was moving in the opposite direction but had also paused to swivel his head back to her. He raised his hand in farewell, his lengthy shape silhouetted in the dark. Rosamund lifted her hand in a small wave to respond and one word shot through her mind: _trouble._

Chapter 4

Rosamund awoke the next day with a lightness of spirit she could not recall feeling since the death of her father. She recalled with delight every word of her encounter with Frederick repeatedly until it was as familiar reading Sense and Sensibility for the ninth time. She could hardly bear the wait until next Tuesday and wondered however she would manage to pass the time. The answer came in the form of her newborn niece, Mary. Overnight, the universe seemed to alter its orbit around this miniscule creature whose incessantly demanding cries reverberated throughout the halls day and night. There was the christening to plan, nannies to interview, and the impending arrival of Cora's mother, which Lady Violet anticipated with the cheer of a French aristocrat staring down the guillotine. Rosamund's role as godmother appeared largely ceremonial and she mostly tried to stay out of the way. Robert spent his time bustling back and forth between his wife and daughter while Lady Violet rampaged her way down a list of servants whose will to live she had not yet completely crushed. Rosamund chose to burrow in the library in safe anonymity. After all, Frederick was studying literature at Oxford and it would be nice if he didn't think her a complete ignoramus. Rosamund dug into her father's well-worn copy of Plato's Republic and subsequent works of Aristotle and was amazed at how something written over one thousand years ago could speak with such truth to humans nearing the twentieth century. She found the idea of this world being a mere shadow of something more defined and evolved strangely reassuring. Her father often claimed that Shakespeare drew his inspiration for the famous quote from Hamlet, "to thine own self be true" from the groundwork laid by Aristotle and now Rosamund was beginning to understand what he meant. She was curious to hear what Frederick would think of the theory, as well read as he was. The memory of his eyes locked on hers forced her to confess that her interest might be more than pursuits of the academic nature but really what could be the harm in an innocent flirtation?

The date of their pre-arranged meeting arrived at last and Rosamund could barely contain her excitement. She had Elsie prepare one of her favorite tea gowns, a high collared gold and light green paisley with buttons from the throat to the cinched in green belt and a matching light green jacket with sheer sleeves. Her hair was swept off her face by combs inlaid with pearls and peridots, her birthstone. Rosamund felt like a nymph of the woods, a creature of nature free from the binds of societal pressures and expectations. The Dowager Countess routinely provided the staff a respite from her tirades by laying down after luncheon. Even if she decided to forego her rest that day, Rosamund was often in the habit of walking through the winding gardens alone so to recuse herself on a sunny afternoon would hardly seem suspicious as long as she didn't tarry too long. Rosamund felt ashamed for wishing a particularly cantankerous morning on the household downstairs as that would provide her an extended visit with the intriguing Mr. Carson. Her wish came true approximately halfway through breakfast when Lady Violet remembered that the Vicar was coming for dinner that evening to finalize the arrangements for baby Mary's christening and the meal planned was simply not up to par. The staggering incompetence of virtually everyone around her was enough to cause the Dowager Countess to seek her siesta particularly early, much to Rosamund's relief. As she began to make a surreptitious exit, Robert called to her from the landing at the top of the staircase.

"Where are you off to this afternoon?"

Rosamund froze and spun around at the threshold of the door.

"I, erm, was just going for a walk."

The tiny detail that she would not be walking alone hardly seemed worth mentioning.

"Oh, all right then, have a nice time."

Robert rubbed his eyes as he spoke and Rosamund felt that he had aged several years in the last several days. She had scarcely seen him since the birth of his child, so consumed had he been with attending to the needs of his womenfolk. The strain was evident on his face, yet Rosamund also noticed a new light in his eyes whenever he emerged for brief periods at meals and a nascent tenderness when he spoke of Cora. It seemed as if his daughter had opened his eyes to his wife for the first time and he was falling in love with both of them simultaneously. There had always been a small part of Rosamund that wondered if Robert's resentment at being forced into a marriage he did not choose precluded him from developing feelings for Cora. The noticeable change he exhibited towards his bride over the last week laid those musings to rest once and for all. Rosamund opened the door and stepped into the bright June sun and towards a new beginning of her own. The beginning of what exactly had yet to be determined but she knew that it was too late to keep from finding out.

He was already at the pillared structure when she arrived, his long frame leaning against one of the carvings. He straightened up to his full height when she arrived and waved cheerily as she strode to meet him.

"Hello there" he said as though their rendezvous was occurring purely by chance.

"Hello," she replied, her heartbeat growing more rapid with each step closer.

They both stood perfectly still for a moment and despite having looked forward to this day for over a week, Rosamund couldn't help but feel slightly foolish for having proposed the idea. What had she been thinking, what possible outcome could this possibly have aside from complete disaster? Then his face broke into that same humble smile she had seen in her mind more than once and the hesitation assailing her started to fall away.

"To where shall we sojourn on this glorious afternoon?" Frederick asked, performing a small but exaggeratedly formal bow.

Rosamund giggled and curtsied in kind.

"There are some hunting paths through the woods we used to walk as children. I thought we could perhaps follow one of those and see where they lead."

"Splendid idea!" Frederick exclaimed and he gestured towards the grove of pines just ahead of them.

"I shall be at your disposal as this area is not terribly familiar to me. Although, come to think of it, most stories I read as a child cautioned against entering the dark woods with a stranger. How can I be sure you won't shed your lovely human form and gobble me up with your glistening fangs as soon as we are out of the clearing?

Rosamund raised an eyebrow at him flirtatiously.

"I suppose you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" she replied.

She held back the urge to jump up and down in delight at the fact that he had just said she was lovely.

They strolled past the neglected gravestones of ancestors long since forgotten and selected a well-worn path through the forest. It was a perfect English afternoon in summer with the scent of wild roses dancing occasionally past them as a light breeze swept across the grass. The woods were dense with ancient pines and oaks but with enough space between the watchful guardians to allow the sunlight to stream down to the flattened earth.

Frederick broke the peaceful spell cast by the surrounding pastoral scenery.

"'There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore. There is society where none intrudes and music in its roar. I love not Man the less, but Nature more'" he quoted blithely.

Rosamund had never heard anything so fitting to the beauty of their surroundings.

"Why that's beautiful, who wrote that?"

"That would be Lord Byron, if you please. I have always loved his poetry although I will admit that learning more about his character or lack thereof cast somewhat of a shadow over my enjoyment of his work. Still, it does seem appropriate to the view, does it not?"

She couldn't help but agree.

"I had heard of some of his behavior was scandalous, to say the least. Perhaps it was his love for all things beautiful that drove him to such reckless passions."

"It does seem that way for many of the artistic sort. I suppose I should consider it a blessing that my very few attempts at creative writing were nothing short of horrendous." Frederick chuckled wryly. "I learned very early on at Oxford that my love of literature would be much better served trying to teach the next Byron or Tennyson rather than to become one myself."

"I've always felt I could express myself better on paper than I could ever hope to in person," Rosamund confessed. "Not creative writing or novels or anything of that sort, mind you. It's just that I never seem to say the right thing at the time but if I have the chance to stop and write it down, the words seem to just naturally pour out."

Frederick shot her a sideways glance.

"You seem to be doing just fine now," he said reassuringly.

Surprisingly, she was, although Rosamund was at a loss to explain why she felt so much more at ease talking to a complete stranger than to people she had seen at dinners and parties half her lifetime.

"I suppose the company makes all the difference" she remarked, giving him a slight nudge to the ribs with her elbow.

He rolled his eyes and fanned his face in feigned embarrassment at the compliment.

"That's quite a statement from someone who recently rubbed elbows with royalty. I do know what you mean, though. I often prefer to practice conversations in my head before going to social occasions. Most of the other chaps in my year received formal training since they were children and I'm constantly worried that I'm going to open my mouth and be revealed for the academic imposter that I am."

Rosamund shook her head, bronzed tendrils loosening around her face.

"Nonsense. My brother and I have had tutors since we were barely out of the nursery and I bet you neither one of us would survive five minutes in a classroom at Oxford. Of course, Robert's education was more comprehensive than mine and rightfully so, I imagine. After all, he does essentially run the estate and me, what do I do?"

Frederick paused their walk for a moment to look at her thoughtfully.

"I think the more important question is, what do you want to do?"

She gaped at him like a trout opening his mouth for a fisherman's bait. No one had ever asked her that in her entire lifetime. Someone had always told her what to wear, how to eat, who to talk to, yet no one, not her nanny, not Robert and certainly not her mother, had ever bothered to inquire about what she desired out of life. It was such a simple question, yet one Rosamund found herself completely unable to answer.

"I honestly don't know, not that it matters. It's not like I have a choice in what my life will entail. I know that I must eventually marry, have children, maintain a household, just like my mother and grandmother before me. My entire life is already decided for me, what I want is irrelevant."

She took a deep breath before addressing what she had been reluctant to explain at their first encounter.

"That's why I was so upset that night that you found me crying. I spent so much time preparing for my presentation, hoping that I would be able to make a good match, someone with a good family but more importantly someone that I actually liked, maybe even could grow to love."

Rosamund could feel the redness creeping up to her cheeks but it was too late to turn back now and the words came tumbling out of her mouth as if they had been waiting for just the right set of ears to hear them.

"Then at the ball, I heard these girls talking about, well, it doesn't matter exactly what they were talking about but I overheard something about my family that will make it almost impossible for me to marry at all, let alone be particularly choosy about to whom. When we came home and I saw my brother and his perfect wife and his perfect daughter and how happy they were, I just felt as though the rest of my life was crashing around me and I couldn't take it anymore."

She sighed deeply and looked at the ground, not wanting to see the reaction in his face. A long low whistle escaped his lips and she gathered enough courage to view the pity or disgust she expected from someone with so much insight and knowledge of the world upon hearing the silly problems of a spoiled little earl's daughter. Instead the look on his strong features reflected a pensive sympathy and he folded his arms across his chest as he gazed directly into her eyes.

"D'you know, for as often as I have read the divine Miss Austen's books, I don't think I ever fully realized the weight of the expectations placed on a lady's marital choices. It seems like it should be such a simple task, find the one you love more than anyone else in the world and spend your life with them but there's so much more to it than that, isn't it?"

Frederick managed to summarize the whole of Rosamund's plight in one understanding sentence.

"I feel so silly, complaining about my problems when there are so many people in the world suffering from poverty and hunger. I feel absolutely wretched even saying it out loud because my parents made certain that I never wanted for anything and yet….it's the thing I have dreamt of most that I will never have."

Rosamund couldn't believe she was pouring out her soul to someone she had known for less than a full twenty-four hours but there was a kinship and ease to their talk that she had never experienced before, not even with Elsie.

Frederick put his hand on her shoulder and said comfortingly, "Don't ever feel ashamed for wanting love. It's the one common need that binds us all as humans, from paupers begging on the streets to kings on their thrones. It's written in every history, in every philosophy, in every culture that the need for love is as essential to our being as the need for food or oxygen. The fact that you grew up with financial and social privilege doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness than the destitute lepers of the Bible. I'm not sure if it helps, but I actually find your plight somewhat illuminating."

Rosamund wasn't sure where he was going with this but the solid weight of his large male hand on her shoulder stayed her inclination to respond by being insulted.

"I'm listening" she murmured.

"Think of it this way. So many people with all their basic needs met spend enormous amounts of time and energy in the pursuit and acquisition of fortune. Yet your dilemma is a living breathing example of the fact that happiness and love cannot be found through wealth, although I'll grant you it may open considerably more doors towards a sense of security than the alternate end of the spectrum. Still, no matter what story is floating around out there about your family, I find it very difficult to believe that a beautiful, intelligent, well-spoken lady such as yourself won't have a string of noble suitors lining up at the door for a chance to simply kiss your hand."

At this, a maroon glow flooded his neck just above his collar and he lifted his hand off her shoulder to run it through his hair, looking at his shoes with a bashfulness that Rosamund found utterly endearing.

They resumed their ambulation in quiet for some time and the stately tree trunks cleared for a thicket of small bushes that pointed their way back to the open fields of the estate. Their branches were laden with wild blueberries completing their transition from the palest green to an appetizing deep violet. Rosamund knelt down to gather a handful, not wanting their time together to be over already. She stretched out her hand to offer a share of her meager harvest to him and as their fingers touched, he ever so briefly reached his thumb around to caress the anterior side of her hand from her wrist to her knuckle. The electricity contained in that single gesture penetrated through the gauzy fabric of her glove and shot through her entire body like a bolt of lightning. They locked eyes before their hands reluctantly parted ways and the magical spell freezing the world around them was broken by the unwelcomely chipper trill of a lark calling to her babies.

The rationale of parting at the fence post well before the manor house was in sight seemed obvious to them both given the clandestine nature of their innocent yet forbidden rendezvous. Frederick placed his hand on the wooden beam and looked around him before saying, "I'll be awfully sorry to see you go. I don't suppose there is any chance that you would be walking this way again tomorrow, is there?"

Rosamund resisted the urge to twirl in delight and replied with restraint, "I often enjoy a meander through the woods on a nice summer day…or in the rain, if it so happens to do that tomorrow either." She felt the words stumbling over her tongue as inexplicable nervousness crept up in her throat.

"Then perhaps, our paths might cross again. This was…a refreshing happenstance to run into you today," was his tongue in cheek reference to their designated meeting.

He raised his hand from the fence post to reach for hers and lift it to his lips as he bowed, his eyes never leaving hers for an instant. A dizzying sense of her dreams mingling with reality resonated throughout her mind and as he dropped her hand, she unknowingly brought it to her midsection and squeezed it with her other hand, the sensation reminding her that she was indeed very much awake.

They each began their journeys in opposing directions, yet just as the time before, both lingered to turn and garner one last look at the other before continuing homeward. The same raised hand, the same knowing smiles that expressed as much as the words they had exchanged throughout their walk. Rosamund travelled at a brisk pace back to her house, not wanting to tarry and have her long absence appear conspicuous. At the same time, Rosamund wanted nothing more than to remain in the golden glow of the day that seemed to shine brighter with every minute she and Frederick had spent together.

Fortunately, the house was still as quiet as a cathedral on Monday when she slipped through the front door and rushed up the stairs to her room. Glancing at the tall corner clock her father had brought back from a trip to Bavaria for her, she let out a deep breath of relief. Just in time to dress for dinner, although the last thing she wanted at the present was for the harshness of reality to intrude on the joy she felt still elevating her feet several inches off the solid ground. Rosamund poured some water from the porcelain pitcher on her night stand in to its matching bowl and splashed her face with a vigorous spray. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Her normally pale cheeks were flushed a brilliant shade of rose and her eyes shone with an exceptional brightness. Her lips were closed but an irrepressible smile lurked at their borders. She hoped the borderline clairvoyant Elsie would believe that she was merely overheated from the summer sun and leave it at that without probing too much further. The expected rapping on the door arrived right on time and Rosamund rallied to calm the excitement she felt sure was written all over her face for the world and her mother to see.

That evening at dinner, Cora joined them for the first time since Mary's birth. Her movements were slow and deliberate and Robert hovered just at her side, ready to catch her lest she should fall and shatter to pieces. After the first course was placed in front of them, Lady Violet dabbed at her lips with her napkin before commanding the attention of the entire assemblage.

"All right now, since we have everyone here at last, there is much to discuss. Mary's christening will take place on Sunday. Cora, I believe your mother is expected to arrive on Friday, is she not?"

Lady Cora nodded silently, waiting for the aside from her mother-in-law that inevitably followed any mention of her country of origin or parentage. Lady Violet did not disappoint.

"We shall do everything we can to make her feel at home. Shall we go ahead and dump the tea in the harbor or does she prefer to do that herself as the Americans are so fond of doing?"

The century and a half that had occurred since the Revolution was still not sufficient time for Lady Violet to recover from the sting of its ingratitude.

"Actually, she prefers coffee but I'm sure she would be fine drinking that out of her cup like the rest of us, Mama."

Lady Cora shot back with a small smile. She then leaned back in her chair as the effort of defending her homeland and family had depleted her limited reserves and chose to let this battle go. A scowl from Robert reminded Lady Violet of his wife's weakened state and the Dowager Countess chose to move on and trained her sharp eyes on Rosamund.

"We will host a luncheon following the christening, Rosamund, you will need to have Hughes dress you with special care for the day. I have issued invitations to several of the young men who were in London last week for the presentation and whose families have reached out to us."

Rosamund felt her chilled asparagus soup stick in her throat and threaten to traverse in the wrong direction at the thought.

"Oh, oh really? So soon?"

She had anticipated that there would be at least some gentleman callers pressed into service by their title hungry parents but the arrival of Mr. Carson had distracted Rosamund from the imminence of their onslaught.

Lady Violet's eyebrows knit together in a downwards trajectory at her daughter's ignorance.

"I should hope so soon, indeed, you're only getting older by the minute, my dear." She said sternly as though Rosamund's hair would turn to ash before the second course was served. The Dowager Countess's tone indicated that she was in no less of a mood to be trifled with than usual and Rosamund decided that it would be better not to speak unless absolutely necessary.

Lady Violet's singular train of thought steamed onwards.

"I have received word that Lord Henry Clifton will be in attendance, as well as William Ashbury of Highmont Estates. We are still awaiting responses from Viscount Bramley and a few others but I expect even if there are those that cannot make it, the event will still be well attended. It is imperative that you make a good impression if you wish for any of these gentlemen to invest further in us. I will arrange for the coach to take you to York tomorrow to pick up a new frock and hat, if you like. That should leave ample time for Hughes to make any adjustments needed. I was pleased with your performance at Court but that was only the first hurdle. Now the real work begins."

As if to underscore what an immense task it was polish Rosamund's roughness into a shining jewel deserving of a wedding ring, Lady Violet took a large sip of the red wine poured into her glass by the underbutler only moments before.

Rosamund's mind raced, calculating the amount of time it would likely take to select and try on a new frock and return from York in time to meet Frederick tomorrow. She would have to leave immediately after breakfast and shop in record time to be back in time to meet him before tea. It dawned on her that she had no method of communicating with him whatsoever. If she was detained or unable to slip away, how would he know? Would he just assume that she had lost interest and never return? The thought of not seeing him again wrenched her stomach in knots of dread and Rosamund resolved to determine some way of letting him know if circumstances prevented her from keeping an appointment with him. Could Carson be trusted? Rosamund glanced at the butler, his all-seeing eyes scanning the staff for the slightest hint of inferior service or rift in decorum. It seemed highly unlikely that he would prove a stalwart ally and she sighed, resigning herself to the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Chapter 5

The sweat dripped down Rosamund's back and she could feel the dampness collect on her shift at the base of her spine. The outing to York had taken longer than expected, despite Rosamund hurriedly picking the first dress recommended by the shopkeeper. She pulled at the fingers of her gloves and peered out the windows of the coach, wordlessly willing the driver to crack the whip just a hair faster. She had worn her favorite blue dress that day, knowing she wouldn't have time to change once she returned home and the satin wrinkled and creased more each time she fidgeted anxiously in her seat.

Elsie Hughes, who had accompanied Rosamund to York to ensure the proper fit of the gown, frowned at her with concern.

"Are you quite all right, dearie? You're squirming more than a thief at St. Peter's doorstep. Is the heat getting to you?"

Rosamund longed to explain to Elsie the real reason for her fidgeting but knew that no good would come of unburdening herself to anyone at this juncture. At best, Elsie would be compelled to urge Rosamund against future meetings with Frederick; at worst, she would have to tell Lord Robert or the Dowager Countess herself, and that was a risk she wasn't willing to take.

"No, no, I'm fine, just tired after all the shopping. I suppose I might go for a walk to stretch my legs right after we get in, that will do the trick quite nicely."

Elsie's green eyes stared directly into Rosamund's and she felt quite sure that her innermost thoughts were laid bare for her lady's maid to read like a manuscript of her deceit. If the genes of the Seer inside Elsie Hughes detected the falsehood, however, she kept it to herself and merely nodded in genial agreement. Not a moment too soon, the carriage pulled up at the front of the manor and Rosamund popped out like an over eager jack in the box. She turned to face Elsie, walking backwards towards the path all the while, as the bewildered lady's maid climbed out of the coach with infinitely more decorum than her pedigreed charge.

"Oh, that feels so nice, just a good walk is what's needed. I shan't be too long, just have the footmen bring the boxes in and tell them I'll be back before tea."

Rosamund called out then turned and disappeared as hastily as she could before Elsie could ask any more details about her admittedly odd behavior. As soon as she was out of sight of the big house, she clamored past the stone garden wall and cut across the meadow, her gait an awkward blend of alternating walking and full out galloping to avoid being completely out of breath upon arrival. She slowed to a more refined pace and attempted as best she could to smooth the mad curls that popped from her head at every angle. She could see Frederick standing at his usual spot, a picnic basket in his hand. He shaded his eyes with the other, his squint increasing with pleasure upon spotting her.

"I was about to give up hope and eat this all by myself," he exclaimed, slightly jiggling the basket in one hand, reaching to take her arm with the other.

This was the most romantic gesture that any gentleman had performed for Rosamund and she was as delighted as if the basket held the crown jewels, stolen from the Tower to win her favor.

"How lovely, I must admit, I'm quite hungry. I was in York all morning and left before getting anything to eat back at home."

They stopped at a large patch of aromatic lavender bordering a thick grove of cedar trees and he looked around several times before settling on a spot. The glare of the sun was intensified by an overcast of showers that threatened their cheery outing and the shade of the magnificent trees provided an inviting shelter. Frederick spread out a red and white checkered blanket under the verdant canopy and Rosamund sat down with decidedly unladylike exuberance. He threw his head back and laughed before opening the basket and placing its contents in front of her. There was a crusty baguette, several chunks of pungent farm fresh cheese and red strawberries glistening like rubies nestled inside a white cotton cloth. Their enticing fragrance reached Rosamund's nose instantly and her stomach gurgled loudly in response.

She placed her hand over her mouth and covered her giggles of embarrassment. In any other setting, such a noise would have been a mortifying breach of etiquette but her ease with him increased with each meeting and she viewed her comfort with him as a testament to their growing bond. Rosamund popped a berry in her mouth and shrugged her shoulders with pure delight.

"Is there anything more heavenly than fresh strawberries in summer? This makes me quite the happy girl," she exclaimed in a muffled voice, her hand covering her mouth to keep the sweet juice from dribbling out its corners as she spoke.

"I know what you mean," he said, plucking a berry for himself with content.

"Strawberries make you a happy girl too?" Rosamund couldn't help but say before helping herself to a slice of cheese and grinning with pleasure at her atypical impromptu wit.

A hearty guffaw seemed to erupt from his toes and spread throughout his body and he shook his head at her.

"I suppose I had that one coming. Well done, you. I'm just pleased that you like it. I've no doubt you're used to much more elaborate fare at home."

While that was an accurate description of their ordinarily seven course meals, the combination of relaxing company and the agrarian loveliness of the views surrounding them, Rosamund couldn't remember a time when she had tasted her food more vividly or laughed with more abandon. For all of Frederick's impressive academic repartee, he had a disarming silliness to his character and she found herself able to respond to his jests with a quickness that surprised and elated her. He regaled her with tales of his boyhood adventures on the dairy farm in the nearby village of Herford and she detailed her father's voyages to Africa and the exotic treasures he would bring back for his curious children.

"He loved to travel more than anything else in the world. He used to tell us that the world is a book and those who never leave home read only a page." She explained to Frederick wistfully.

"Your father was a wise man. I think that's what drew me to literature as a child. The whole world can be at your fingertips in a book. I have sailed New England coast aboard the Pequod with Ahab and been imprisoned in France with the Count of Monte Cristo, and braved the frigid Russian winters with the Karamazov brothers, all from the comforts of my own heart and home." Rosamund winced plainly at his mention of Russia, leading him to question, "what is it, is something wrong?"

She could keep the secret inside no longer.

"I might as well tell you, it's been eating me alive since the night we met. The things I heard those girls say about my family at the ball? The secret that means no gentleman with any standing will want anything to do with me? It's about Russia. My parents travelled to Russia when I was a small child and while they were there, my mother had an affair with a Russian prince. She nearly ran away with him and would have abandoned my father and my brother and myself completely if the prince's wife hadn't stopped them and had it out with my mother in the streets. Apparently the story got out and everyone found out about it….everyone that is except me," she added, her pain with the opening of the wound at odds with the anathema of finally being able to talk about it.

"I just don't understand how she could be so selfish, how she could do that to my father, to me and Robert. Weren't we enough for her?"

Something wet dropped on the tip of her nose but it wasn't a tear. The sky opened up at the same time as her confession and the isolated raindrop was soon joined by a steady downpour from the heavens that sent the two scurrying farther into the forest for shelter. They sat on the grass beside a large boulder and Frederick draped the blanket over their heads for protection from the deluge. They huddled together in their warm cocoon, the rhythmic sound of the rain on the leaves above their heads the only sound until he broke the hypnotic stillness by looking down at her to speak in a husky voice.

"I can't imagine how painful that must have been to hear, especially in that manner. There is no consolation I can think of to offer save this, if I was in the running for your heart, there would be nothing, no secret too scandalous, no family skeleton too awful to keep me from you. Any man should consider himself the luckiest bloke alive just to be able to hold your hand and tell you how absolutely enchanting you are. How the shine in your eyes is like holding a mirror to the moon. How the incomparable cream of your skin could drive him insane with wanting to reach out and graze your cheek. How you cast a spell on him with each bewitching smile and every brilliant, sensitive, funny word that comes out of your mouth…..my God, your mouth."

And with that, his face was pulled to hers by an unseen magnetic force and Rosamund instinctively closed her eyes as his lips met hers. The insistent urgency of the kiss caught her by surprise and she was struck breathless by the envelopment of his full warm mouth. The urgency melted into a tender need that Rosamund could no longer deny. His hands grasped her elbows and drew her body into his. She reached her hands upwards to stroke his hair and down his neck. The blanket fell from around them and the rain, which had slacked to a light drizzle, made their clothes heavy and damp but they paid no attention. Rosamund could think of nothing except the liquified pressure building inside her as his lips caressed hers with long deep kisses from which no power on earth could compel her to break away. She moaned softly as his lips migrated from her cheek to the angular point of her jawbone to just beneath her earlobe. He paused and stared deeply into her eyes, his strong brows lined with the clear internal struggle between desire and the perplexing nature of their predicament.

"Rosamund, are you all right? I shouldn't have, that is, I never meant to…." Frederick's words faltered as he breathed deeply to regain his wits. His neck had turned a mottled scarlet above his white collar and she placed her hand on cheek, feeling the pounding of his pulse against the side of her hand.

"I'm fine, more than fine. I mean, I've never felt better in my life."

She smiled and leaned in to resume their previous activity but he hesitated and released his arms around her to shift back.

"We mustn't, not that I don't want to, you realize that, right? I've never wanted anything more in my entire life than to hold you and kiss you and….but this can't happen. What if someone finds us? What would my brother say? What would your family say? They would have me thrown in jail if they saw your precious daughter kissing someone like me."

He drew his knees to his chest and clasped his hands together around them, his eyes fixed on the ground as though searching for an answer buried beneath the wet soil below.

Rosamund raised herself to her knees to kneel beside him and reached for his arm.

"I know that it's not ideal but I can't help the way I feel about you. We've only known each other a few days but I feel more myself with you than with anyone else in the world. Please don't push me away, I can't bear it if you do."

She hated the pleading tone that had crept into her voice but the delicious heat that had been growing inside her was cooling to a hard lump of steel and she craved the warmth of his touch again. He turned his face to gaze at her once again and his eyes fixed on her, ablaze with sheer longing.

"Oh, my darling," he whispered and they wrapped their arms around each other with the abandon of one stranded in the desert who has come upon an oasis of cool blue water. He wrapped one of his large hands in her curls, pressing her lips into his too deeply for breath to escape, while the other hand roamed down her back to settle just above her hip. They clung to one another with a combustible blend of ecstasy and hopelessness that threatened to consume them both in its explosion. Rosamund felt she might cry out with wonder at the need burning throughout her entire body but a crash of thunder interrupted their embrace and they scrambled to their feet to run out of the woods as a bolt of lightning followed their flight.

Once safely back in the shelter of the marble dome, they collapsed on the steps in a release of nervous laughter.

"You look like you've been dunked in a lake," she exclaimed between fits. "I can't even imagine how bedraggled I am. What will Elsie say when she sees this frock? The poor thing, these grass stains will never come out although bless her, knowing her, she'll try her hardest."

Frederick sobered up a bit to reply.

"She's from the Highlands, yes? They tend to be a superstitious lot, just tell you were abducted by fairies for a brief bacchanalia to celebrate the solstice. You look as entrancing than any woodland creature Pan could have frolicked with to me."

Their lightened mood lasted until they reached the gate post. Rosamund looked back at the house before saying in a tremulous voice.

"We must see each other again. I don't care what anyone thinks. How can we get word to one another, we can't trust Carson, can we?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and puffed out his cheeks to exhale loudly.

"I suppose I could leave something here, a mason jar perhaps, if I come by. If you see it, you could come out to the gazebo, around this time. I don't know how often I'll be able to come, though, I'm still helping Mum and Father around the farm most days while I'm on break from university," he added with trepidation.

Rosamund took his trepidation as a sign of his caring for her. She knew as well as he did they were playing with fire but the spark in her heart had already been ignited, there was no point in trying to stamp it out.

"I promise it will be all right, Frederick." She said, trying to sound confident and reassuring.

A halfhearted version of his usual confident grin peeked from behind the doubts shadowing his features. "I think you can call me 'Freddie' now…" he said and he stretched out his hand to cup her chin. "I don't dare kiss you goodbye, I fear I would not be able to stop and then all the promises in the world couldn't keep us from being discovered."

Instead, he let his fingers trail slowly down her neck and arm, staying for a whisper along the smooth underside of her wrist.

"The touch of an angel's wing could not match this for softness," he spoke hoarsely, the color beginning to spread along the veins in his neck once more. He placed his lips against that same spot where Rosamund's pulse quickened to the pace of a hummingbird's wings at his touch. He performed a swift about face and took several cautionary steps away before turning to raise his hand to her in their usual farewell gesture. She remained stationary, willing time to stop so she could remember this day, this moment forever.

The stunned look on Elsie's face when she first saw the condition of Rosamund's prized outfit froze in a horrified expression worthy of an All Hallow's Eve masquerade costume as the entire story came spilling forth. The words flowed in cathartic torrents, from the night at the ball, to the first time she met Frederick to this afternoon's tryst in the rain.

"Elsie, I know what you're going to say, I know it's insane, I know this is a man I couldn't possibly marry but I've never felt anything like this before in my life. I've had fancies and infatuations before but they were never like this. I feel as though I've met my soul's match, the missing piece of myself. We finish each other's sentences like we're of one mind, one heart. I don't know what I'm going to do but I know that I can't let him go, at least not yet," Rosamund concluded, drawing herself up with as much dignity as her earth stained clothes and disheveled mane would allow. She placed her hands defiantly on her hips, prepared to defend herself against the judgement of the world.

The rictus mask that had replaced Elsie's normally cheery visage slowly rearranged itself and her eyes rolled upwards to channel all the patience of the saints before speaking.

"All right, now dearie, let's stop and breathe a moment before you give yourself an attack and follow Juliet into the hall of martyred lovers. I'll not pretend I think this is a good idea but who am I to dictate the wants of another's heart?"

Rosamund's hands dropped to her sides in disbelief.

"So you're not going to tell anyone?"

"Now who would I tell, your mother, your brother? I've no wish to be the messenger shot dead on arrival. No, your secret's safe with me but I must tell you again, I don't see this ending any way but with at least one heart being broken along the way," Elsie warned.

There was a small part of Rosamund that couldn't help but agree.

Chapter 6

As the June sun continued its sequential tarantella of dips below the horizon, the path from the Abbey to the gate that was now teeming with climbing roses bore a steady wearing down from Rosamund's repeated marches down its dusty trail. The disappointing jolt that hit each time she searched for the promised mason jar only to come up empty handed did not ease with subsequent trips. He had said that he was busy, she reminded herself but this gave little succor to the almost overwhelming urge to continue running past their meeting place to Hereford and knock on every farmhouse door until she found him. Had she imagined his words, his passionate embrace? Did he not feel the same or was she simply a foolish young girl who was too impatient to let a few days go by without word? Perhaps he was plagued with the same concerns, perhaps he was held back by fear that she regretted her own conduct with someone of a different social class. Rosamund felt nearly ill at the idea that he could ever think she would reject him based on something so meaningless to her. If only there was some way she could reach out to him, to assuage both their troubled hearts. Lost in her thoughts, her foot caught on the fringe of the carpet framing the entrance way of the home and she collided forehead to chin with the new footman.

"I'm terribly sorry, Lady Rosamund, please forgive my clumsiness. Are you hurt?"

He practically shook with nervousness at the encounter and she shook her head in consolation.

"No, no the fault was entirely mine. I wasn't looking where I was going…umm," Rosamund searched her brain for a name but came up wanting. She wondered with chagrin what Freddie would think of her elitist callousness. "I beg your pardon but I don't recall your name. Don't worry, I'm not going to report you to my mother, I just feel rather odd not knowing the names of the people who work so hard for us."

His trembling stilled with relief and he regained some semblance of color in his sallow cheeks.

"James Blount, milady, although they call me Jim downstairs. Are you certain you're not injured, I could fetch you a compress from downstairs if you feel faint."

The desperate gleam in his dark eyes reminded Rosamund of one of her father's favorite hunting dogs, heeling eagerly for a hint of approval.

"Really, I'm just fine, thank you. I'll be sure to be more careful in the future. Thank you ever so much for your concern."

She nodded and he bowed several times as he backed away hastily. Rosamund trudged up the stairs to her room, wondering if the emptiness caused by Freddie's absence that pervaded her entire being was somehow making her appear as icy as her mother. She shuddered at the thought and retreated to her room. She pulled the curtains shut and fell into her bed, the darkness providing a blank canvas for her fantasies to paint pictures of a world where love and happiness are no longer unattainable dreams.

The next day was little Mary's christening. Rosamund's new gown fit to perfection thanks to Elsie's toil over the last week. A satin confection of a pink so pale it was only just distinguishable from white in the bright afternoon sun and delicate frilly sleeves that puffed just below the top of her exposed shoulders. Light green embroidered dragonflies were connected by scallops of rose gold thread at the bottom of the gown. A matching rose gold and diamond coronet encircled Rosamund's head above the securely anchored nest of hair that Elsie smoothed into layers of twists along the nape of her neck. Muttering menacing threats to any rebellious strands that happened to disobey her carefully studied fashion plates, Elsie used her fingers to coax wispy ringlets into loosely framing Rosamund's cheekbones. Stepping back to admire her handiwork, Elsie shook her head.

"'Tis a pity that young man of yours won't be able to see you today, you look breathtaking. Like one of those lilies we use to grow in the front lawns before we realized they made your mother sneeze."

She sighed before crossing herself and adding, "Poor gardener Higgins, I've never seen a seventy-year old former infantryman cry so."

Facing the mirror and smoothing the front of her skirt, Rosamund mournfully nodded in concurrence. It had been five days since she and Freddie had shared their magical afternoon and the gate post was as forlornly devoid of perturbance as it had been since they parted. It had been all she could think about regardless of her mother's constant reminders to prepare for the convocation of suitors that awaited her at the luncheon to be held, in theory, in honor of the blessed child. The event would have been much more tolerable if she had any prospect of seeing Freddie afterwards to make him laugh over the cavalcade of stuffy demi-nobles and paunchy new money Londoners vying needlessly to be a part of the Downton legacy. Not that it wouldn't hurt for him to be just a tiny bit jealous, perhaps spur him to declare his undying love for her and whisk her away to Gretna Green….Rosamund jumped as the chime of her clock interrupted her grand and unlikely fantasy. She garnered one final adjustment of her sun kissed curls from Elsie before squaring her shoulders and heading downstairs to face the day.

Robert and Cora were in the foyer fussing over Mary in her christening gown. It seemed a ridiculously excessive amount of fabric for such a small creature, mounds of downy white silk and lace imported from France covering the face that resembled a furious squashed tomato with hair. The pint sized dictator was less than pleased at having been awoken from her beauty sleep and intended to vociferously make her subjects aware of her displeasure. Cora rocked the baby and cooed to no avail while Robert stood above them and beamed with pride at his daughter's unbridled fury.

"That's my girl, you just tell everyone all about it," he murmured lovingly at the shrieking bundle. "The audacity of us to take you away from your lovely dreams, my brilliant wee thing. You'll take no prisoners, that's for sure."

Rosamund giggled at her stern brother sunk to wheedling nonsense to curry favor from an individual who didn't care who was holding her as long as she was kept in the constant bouncing motion her highness demanded.

"All right, if we are all present and accounted for, let's be off to the church now, it wouldn't do for us to be tardy," Lady Violet stated briskly, entirely unmoved by the plaintive cries of the lady of the hour. "Cora, where is your mother? Honestly, keeping track of an American is like herding cats. They can't stay put for more than a minute before they're off chasing something invisible into the Western horizon. I do hope she will leave her feathered headdress and moccasins at home for the occasion."

Cora, who was far too absorbed in the simultaneous pacing and bouncing stride that had finally soothed Mary into drowsy submission, simply responded, "Yes, she'll meet us at the church."

The Dowager Countess deflated slightly at the easy surrender and tilted her head to appraise the snoring infant.

"She is quite a pretty baby, isn't she? So much like Robert when he was born. Rosamund, on the other hand, was red from tip to toe and ever so scrawny. When they first brought her to me, I thought they had mistaken the raw chicken to be cooked for dinner for my baby. I was terrified cook was placing my real daughter inside the roasting pan with carrots and turnips."

Lady Violet chortled to herself at the remembrance while Rosamund found little to laugh about in that story that she had heard every year for the last seventeen birthdays. Her mother had never kept secret her opinion that Rosamund's looks were not her most outstanding virtue but it was simply another item on the long list of ways in which her daughter failed to meet her lofty expectations. She wondered if this was why she needed to see Freddie so again so badly. It was the first taste of validation she had ever known and it had instilled a craving for more. Of course, there was more to it than that, she chastised herself, of course she valued him for his own qualities, not just the way he made her feel. There were so few in her social stratosphere who spoke with candor and substance as he did. During their last meeting, he had told Rosamund of a famine in Ukraine that he was studying where thousands had perished just a few years earlier. She was astonished that something so catastrophic could still occur in the nineteenth century and was impressed at how he spoke with such scathing eloquence of the apathetic response of the Western European governments to the rampant poverty and need.

"Maybe when I'm finished with Oxford, I'll spend a year travelling about these regions and write a book about the suffering and maybe then the eyes of power will be open to the plight of the powerless," ee had opined passionately.

Rosamund had been enthralled with his willingness to give up everything to bring awareness to the needy, although it occurred to her in retrospect that if he was planning to spend a year among the impoverished peoples of the East, where did that leave her? That disheartening grain of reality cast a pall on the glorious time they had spent laughing over their favorite Oscar Wilde quotes and she banished it quickly. As if to further entreat her back to the present, the bells of the church pealed upon their arrival. A perfect example of Anglican simplicity, the church St. Stephen's of Downton Village was the architectural embodiment of the yearning of the Christian soul for its heavenly home. A single spire narrowed as it stretched higher and higher towards the dwelling place of the angels, yet reached its zenith at the cross tantalizingly close to but never reaching the clouds above. A massive glass window with arched panes brought light into the stone chapel which had eschewed the trappings of adornment in exchange for a spartan coziness. Rosamund had always envisioned walking down the aisle to her perfect prince while all her friends and family gasped in awe from the pews beside her. The image of Freddie waiting at the altar, his handsome face beaming at his radiant bride brought a delightful warmth to her cheeks and she hoped the unconsciously blissful expression on her face would be taken by others as merely the joyous doting of a happy aunt and godmother. She kept the secret budding hope tucked tightly in her heart as a warm summer rain forced the party to make a less than elegant dash for the front door of the rectory.

The rain lasted just through the christening ceremony, which was mercifully brief as the wee monarch did not take kindly to an unscheduled bath. By the time the photos had been taken and the newest member of the congregation returned well fed and dry to her royal crib, the ephemeral summer storm had given way to a refreshing coolness that was welcomed heartily by the company in their layers of formal attire. Particularly the gentlemen, in their long grey tails and starched linen shirts, seemed glad of a break from the abnormally humid temperatures of late. The ratio of gentlemen to ladies was humorously uneven and the absurdity of the obvious marriage market in the guise of a christening celebration would have been highly amusing to Rosamund had she not been the chief item up for bidding. The Dowager Countess might as well have attached marionette tethers to her arms the way she yanked Rosamund from one overly polite suit to another. A brief introduction, a non-descript commentary on the weather and local crops and they were off to the next hopeful husband to be. By the time the cook's famous strawberry tarts had been reduced to crumbs and the last cup of tea had been drained, Rosamund couldn't recall one face from the other, each man blended together into one dull mass of pinstripes and small talk. Peering out of the drawing room window, she thought she saw a hint of movement in the bushes beyond the walkway. Her heart leapt to her throat and she backed away to the front door before the dwindling crowd could notice her absence. Keeping her strides demure so as not to appear as though she expected to see him, Rosamund tiptoed swiftly towards the gate post when suddenly the drone of the Viscount of Brampton's voice stopped her in her tracks with paralyzing dread.

"Why what a turn of luck to find you out here, my dear. I realize I'm a bit late to the party but I was so hoping to run into you again and here you are. It must be destiny," he oozed with a treacly smirk that she assumed was his most sincere effort at charm.

Rosamund stammered "I….erm, well yes, I just stepped out for a bit of fresh air, quiet a lot of people in there you know. But don't let me keep you, I know Mama was most anxious to see you and discuss the um, the hunting party for this Fall."

She gambled on his well-known penchant for their feted grouse shoots and prayed that the distraction would buy her enough time for Freddie to see her in her dress and arrange a time when she could sneak away again for a satisfying duration.

His one coal black eye that could focus centered directly on her mouth and Rosamund felt compelled to take a step backwards. He lowered his voice to a decibel that seemed to threaten intimacy rather than offer it.

"Perhaps you and I could have a private party of our own in a quiet corner of the woods back here," he snarled as he reached for her elbow.

Rosamund recoiled in horror and endeavored to gently nudge him away with her fan without giving in to the temptation to hit him on the nose with it like a misbehaving hound.

"As, uh, tempting as that sounds, Viscount, I'm afraid it would be entirely inappropriate. I would hate for my brother or my mother to get the wrong idea about us."

The Viscount tightened his grip on her upper arm and pulled her in closer. The scent of wine on his breath was so heavy she was relatively certain of the vintage from his alarming proximity.

"I'm sure they wouldn't take issue. Your family is no stranger to relationships outside the bonds of marriage but I'm sure you've heard those stories long ago," he sneered as he pulled her hips towards his and began to stumble with her in tow in the direction of a large holly shrub next to the wooden fence.

"Pardon the interruption, but is everything all right out here?"

A deep voice intoned from the direction of the house and to Rosamund's great relief, the butler, Carson, was making his way to her rescue with a commanding speed.

The Viscount whirled around and was thrown off balance by the surprise. He tumbled to the ground and landed posterior first in a warm puddle freshly muddied from the afternoon's shower. He let loose a growl of poorly contained rage and lurched menacingly at Carson, who towered impassively above the fuming aristocrat.

"See here, butler," the Viscount hissed, spittle flying onto Carson's pristinely starched collar. "I don't see how this is any of your concern. Why don't you go back to handing out canapes and give the lady and myself a few moments of privacy?"

Carson shot a knowing look over the Viscount's head at Rosamund, who was trembling with shock.

"The safe keeping of this estate and its family is my only business and it is one I take most seriously. Come, Lady Rosamund, I'm certain your brother will want to know where you've been and with whom." He aimed a pointed glare at the Viscount with that insinuation. "I'm certain your Lordship's ministrations are required elsewhere. Will you be requiring an escort back to your coach?"

The Viscount's fists clenched at his sides and Rosamund feared that he was contemplating launching an all-out assault on her honorable defender. He emitted a low growl then brushed past Carson in a huff, having decided that engaging in a fist fight with the staunch wall of a butler before him was not in his best interest. Rosamund felt her knees buckle and grabbed hold of the stone post to maintain her upright position. Carson reached out to steady her and as they rose to standing together, he glowered at something over her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" He barked at Freddie, who had been making his way to the gate post with the long-awaited mason jar in his hand but stopped to gawk at the puzzling sight of his brother next to a swooning Rosamund. His eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, confusion and annoyance battling for supremacy in their oceanic depths.

"I, ummm, I, well, I saw some herbs in the field the last time I was here to see you that looked like something I remembered from a botany class I took last term. They're supposed to have anti-inflammatory powers and I was hoping to collect some for Father's rheumatism. M-Might I inquire as to what is going on over here?"

He sought Rosamund's face for clues to the mysterious circumstances in which they found themselves but the best she could offer was an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Carson bristled at his little brother's impudence.

"Not that it is any of your concern, but this is Lady Rosamund Crawley, daughter to her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess. Lady Rosamund, I do hope you will forgive the intrusion. This is my younger brother, Frederick. He comes to visit me from time to time to apprise me on the condition of our parents' farm and rarely stays for very long."

The butler's distinctive eyebrows jumped frighteningly close to his hairline to convey the implied send off to the uninvited recipient.

Rosamund curtsied as was expected upon courteous introductions and the action provided a sufficient stall for her to come up with a strategy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carson. Do you know, I believe there are several volumes in our library on botany and medicinal herbs, my father developed an interest following a bout of malaria. I would be happy to lend them to you if you would care to accompany me inside?"

Freddie's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it when Carson answered for him.

"That's very kind of you, Lady Rosamund, but very unnecessary. If you should happen to come across any books on the subject and were so inclined to pass them along, I will see to it that my brother receives them. I'm sure I will be seeing him again before he starts his next term at University."

Rosamund noted the tension drawing Carson's mouth into a severe line at the mention of Freddie's schooling and chose not to press the issue further.

"Very well, I will be sure to get those books to you shortly. After all, I'm not doing much else these days," she said, giving Freddie a meaningful glance. "Mr. Carson, it was lovely to make your acquaintance. Do feel free to stop by and visit your brother anytime you like, any friend or family of Carson's is always welcome here."

Freddie gave a short bow, then tossed a look of resigned irritation at his brother before returning down the path from where he came. Rosamund felt a wave of heartrending disappointment wash over her but there was nothing else she could do for the time being but follow Carson back inside the house. At the base of the entry way steps, he paused to speak in an abjectly apologetic tone.

"Lady Rosamund, I truly hope that my brother didn't give you the wrong impression. If you think that I would ever neglect my duties to go wandering off with him in the middle of the day, nothing could be further from the truth. He comes by to collect money for his tuition and expenses at home and then leaves, our time together is brief and I prefer to keep it that way."

She noted the tone in his voice grow as sour as if he had swallowed a mouthful of the imaginary medicinal herbs Rosamund hoped to use as a channel of communication.

"Carson, I would never imagine anything of the sort from you. Your service to our family is exemplary, particularly on occasions such as this afternoon. I cannot thank you enough for coming to my aid, I don't know what I would have done had you not come along."

Rosamund swallowed hard and shivered at the all too recent memory of the unscrupulous Viscount's arms around her.

Carson looked down at the ground and shook his head.

"Think nothing of it milady. I will personally guarantee that he will never be allowed to enter this house again, especially after your brother hears about what happened."

Trying to casually segue back to the hidden reason for her untimely presence outside, Rosamund couldn't stop herself from asking, "I notice that you and your own brother don't seem particularly close. Did anything happen between the two of you?"

The butler checked himself for a moment before answering.

"Your ladyship needn't concern herself with my brother. It's not that he's a bad sort of fellow or anything, he always means well, it's just that," Carson grew silent as he struggled to force his decorum and innate honesty to coexist. "My brother was always coddled as a child and I don't believe he ever really learned how to face the problems that one encounters all too often in the real world. When confronted with difficulty in the past, he has always found it easier to cut and run, so to speak, instead of solving it head on. He preferred to live in books where the ending comes happily enough without requiring any effort on his part. It's why the world of academics is a good fit for him, it's the only pursuit he has ever seen to completion. Whether or not he will be able to translate that to life outside the classroom…"Carson trailed off reticently, appearing to feel as though he had revealed far more of this personal life than was professionally allowed. "But we do what we must for our family. It's nothing to burden yourself with, Lady Rosamund, especially after such a long day. I shall have Hughes bring your tea up to your room if you need to rest quietly for the afternoon."

She nodded with genuine gratitude and quickly headed inside, hurrying surreptitiously past the drawing room before the few guests staying on to enjoy a glass of champagne could spot her. She tiptoed up the stairs to her room and shut the door before sinking to the floor as the exhaustion and overstimulation set in. Her head was spinning, Carson's unflattering depiction of Freddie echoing in the eye of the mental tornado. Who was this man to whom she felt so drawn? She thought she knew who he was, they had divulged so much of their inner selves to one another in such a short period of time. Could she be seeing only the heroic love interest who makes up the stuff of fiction, rather than the real person of flesh and flaws? Rosamund reminded herself that the truth is almost always somewhere in the middle and rationalized that if her own brother was called upon to describe her, he might not paint her in the most glowing fashion either. She and Freddie had both commiserated over the plight of being the younger sibling, perhaps Carson's negativity was nothing more than the venting of an older brother, worn and frustrated by the shadow of a younger brother who eclipsed him with his achievements. Yes, that must be it, jealousy could taint even the most honorable of men with unfavorable opinions and who could blame Carson for wearying of playing second fiddle to his brilliant little brother? That thought allayed the second guessing that was plaguing her heart, her heart which had skipped a beat upon just seeing Freddie again. No matter where the truth lay about his real nature, Rosamund was finding it harder and harder to imagine a future for herself without him in it.

Chapter 7

It wasn't until the next morning when Rosamund recalled her ruse of finding a book for Freddie and she slipped into the library after breakfast. It took her over an hour of searching before she came upon the item of interest. Her father had truthfully acquired an interest in the subject after nearly losing his life to the illness and held a firm belief in the power of homeopathic treatments, including teas from the China, Native American remedies and concoctions borne out of Scottish superstitions. She pulled a tome from the shelves called Herbs of Great Britain and Their Healing Powers and ran her fingers over the worn lettering, the ache of missing her father closer to the surface than ever. She paused to listen for activity outside the door, then sat down at the cherry secretary and pulled out a plain piece of stationary and a pen. She meant to conceal a letter to Freddie within the pages of the book, but how to put her feelings into words without detection? Her tutor had given up trying to teach her French after making it through five excruciating sessions and as many bottles of wine. Neither of them spoke Italian and then the perfect solution came to her: Latin. Despite her tutor decrying its lack of practical use, Rosamund had found it fascinating, the key to decoding the meanings and origins of almost all their everyday language. Freddie would surely be able to read it having studied for the clergy during his early years. She tested the ink pen several times before putting it delicately to the paper.

"Dearest Freddie, I'm so sorry we were thwarted the day of the christening. What an awful moment that was and not at all how I'm sure it looked to you. It broke my heart to see you walk away. I think of you daily, your kind smile, the way we laughed at all the same things, your lips on mine and I yearn for the next time we can see each other. I shall meet you anytime you are free, perhaps we can meet in the evening some time for a walk under the stars? If you are able to come on the first of July, there is supposed to be a lovely full moon that night. If you leave the jar out that day, I shall know that you will be waiting for me at our usual spot and I will come to you after dinner, although it may have to be quite late. No matter what, I cannot wait to see you again."

She lifted her head from the page to stare out the window at their point of rendezvous. She knew how she wanted to end her missive, but was it too soon to use the word love in a letter when they had yet to use it in speech? The thought of hearing him say it filled her with immeasurable happiness but she wanted it to be his choice to say it not a dictation of social courtesy. She went back and forth before finally landing on a safer choice than her true heart's longing.

"Yours, Rosamund"

She tucked the note inside the dust jacket so that he would be sure to see it but tightly enough that it would not fall out into the wrong hands. Outside the window, a distant grumble of thunder rolled across the fields and the sky became dichotomously blackened on one side of the forest while staying white streaked robin's egg blue on the other. Rosamund loved a good afternoon thunderstorm and she curled up in the crimson chaise lounge by the curtains to watch the darkness settle in.

Once the storm had moved on to overthrow its next turquoise conquest, Rosamund left the library. Between the thrill of putting her feelings to Freddie on paper and the satisfying catharsis of steady rain beating against the glass panes protecting her, Rosamund felt quite empowered and went in search of Carson. She found him in the dining room, overseeing the table placement for dinner.

"Carson, I'm glad to see you here. This is one of my father's books, that I had mentioned to you for your brother's research. Please pass it along to him when you can, along with my best wishes for your father."

She hoped he would take note of her consideration and maybe speak well of her to Freddie, easing his mind about the potential familial outcry regarding their relationship.

Carson took the book from her and turned it over to examine the title.

"That was quite kind of you, Lady Rosamund, although I truly hope you didn't go to any trouble to find it. I will ensure that he receives it and returns it promptly in the same condition as you see it now."

Rosamund noticed the footman placing the forks down with care watching them from the other side of the table and recognized him as the fellow she collided into several days prior. She smiled warmly and him and said, "hello Blount, good to see you again."

He stood up with a jerk and looked inquiringly at Carson before replying, "Why, um, hello Lady Rosamund. Yes, thank you, it's nice to see you too."

He gave her a fawning smile which faded rapidly as Carson cleared his throat and nodded sharply at the misplaced salad and entrée forks. Rosamund couldn't put her finger on it but something about the obsequiousness of his voice and the darting of his eyes struck her as untrustworthy. He went back to adjusting the cutlery with trembling white gloved hands and she backed out of the room, wondering exactly what it was about the man that she found so disconcerting. Rosamund had noted in the past that her initial intuition about a person's character was often proved accurate upon further assessment but after the discovery of her mother's unforgivable betrayal, she found herself questioning everything she knew about the people in her lives. If she didn't even know her own mother, what did she know about anyone really?

The table had been set with care that evening as several guests had been invited to wine, dine and put their hat in the ring for the fair Rosamund's hand. The object of their contestation, dressed in resplendent gold satin with black velvet bows at the sleeves and waistline, felt as though her cheeks might never recover from being forced into a polite smile over eight courses of mind numbing male boasting. Thomas Maxwell, a barrister with one eye on any title up for grabs and the other on a Parliament seat, had spent the entire main course talking about the renovations to the estate he had recently purchased in Essex, barely pausing for his own breath let alone giving anyone else the opportunity to speak. Rosamund thought she might have been frightened about a potential choking hazard as he gulped his roasted Cornish hen in gigantic mouthfuls except at least then they might have a few minutes of reprieve from his diatribes on incompetent tapestry weavers. As the servers placed tiny silver goblets of wild raspberry sherbet before them, he was still going on about the woeful dilemma of readying a mansion for habitation on an unlimited budget.

"And, of course, as I'm interviewing footmen, I can't find anyone with more than two years of experience and don't even get me started on the search for a good gentleman's valet. You would think for what I'm offering for the salary, I'd have lines of candidates going out the door but I've not come even close to a full staff yet. I admit the size of the place must be intimidating but for the compensation, these people should be willing to step up. After all, it's not like they've got any better prospects out there."

Lord Robert, who had been glancing with apprehension at Carson throughout the tirade of insults to those in service, opened his mouth to move the conversation in a less derogatory direction.

"How about this year's cricket-" but he was interrupted by Sir William Peterson, the fourth son of the family who lived in the estate neighboring Downton.

"I blame the educational reforms Parliament has been forcing down our throats over the last two decades," he interjected pompously. "Ever since they started with the idea that all children should be offered education at the primary level and took it out of the hands of the local churches, the system's been thrown into utter chaos. Now they've taken it so far as to use our taxes to pay for free public education, it's absolute rubbish. Now they've given these people false hope that they can be anything they want to be just because they've read a few books and suddenly, service just isn't good enough for them anymore."

The bird felt as though it was resuming flight within Rosamund's digestive system at the unabashed snobbery she was hearing from these men who had never lifted a finger in service of anyone other than their own consumptive interests. Before she even realized what was happening, she had opened her mouth and words were pouring out.

"Are you actually saying that you believe providing children with the chance to learn and grow as informed citizens and improve their chances for increased financial security is a bad thing? I don't believe that a career in service is at all unfortunate but shouldn't we provide equal footing for all young people to advance to their greatest potential?"

Twelve sets of demitasse spoons clanged harmoniously before falling silent as the collective jaws of the party assembled dropped to the table.

Mr. Maxwell spluttered sanctimoniously, "Rosamund, my dear, I don't believe you fully comprehend Sir William's initial statement. You see, educating certain village children has always been the role of the churches as it has been for centuries. This provides a certain amount of discretion to the church elders to ascertain the individuals with the, how shall I put it, aptitude, for learning?"

Rosamund felt the flames shooting from her mother's eyes willing her into a silent column of ash but the rage that had been propelled by the patronizing tone of the gentleman before her consumed her desire remain properly invisible.

"You mean the discretion to advance the children of those families who pay for updates to the parish house? And what of those children in remote villages or areas without sufficient resources to pay for schoolbooks that cover even basic knowledge for survival in life outside of service? Should the next Shakespeare or Lord Byron be relegated to the poorhouse because they were of an 'inappropriate' background?"

She couldn't believe the words were coming out of her without a hint of stutter or inhibition. The steam that had built up in her ears started to disperse and she desperately fought the compulsion to fan her face which was without a doubt matching the palate cleanser's raspberry garnish in its hue.

"That is precisely the argument that won the legislation's passing in the House of Lords," a new voice chimed in from the opposite end of the long table. "Although, I daresay none of them put it as fervently or as eloquently as Lady Rosamund just did. If she keeps talking, I'll have no choice but to write her name on the ballot at the next election. Now, Lord Robert, did I hear you say something about this year's local cricket team? I'm quite anxious to see how they match up against West Chester in this year's tournament."

Rosamund peered down the table in grateful shock to determine the source of her unlikely defense. A young man who had introduced himself with the unforgettable moniker of Marmaduke Paineswick met her eyes and gave her the tiniest of winks. She pushed the corners of her mouth down and focused on the frosted confection placed before her while the conversation happily switched to the star cricket player's turned ankle. They finished the towering desserts in relative peace before adjourning to the library for a final round of ports and self-congratulation. Rosamund waited for the congregation to appear distracted by their own accomplishments before making her way over to her champion. He was a slight man, not much taller than Rosamund herself, with short chestnut brown hair and a complexion that hinted of a not so distant Mediterranean ancestor. He smiled as she approached and flecks of green and gold brightened the rich chocolate beneath enviably long eyelashes.

She offered a small smile in return before remarking, "I have to thank you, I do believe you saved my life back there. I fear they might have begun proceedings to have me burned at the stake had you not backed me up."

Marmaduke shook his head and laughed.

"Somehow, I doubt that, although I've been known to be wrong once or twice before. You didn't really need me but no man, or woman for that matter, need be an island, especially when they have right on their side."

Rosamund didn't know whether it was his relaxed geniality that was so uncommon in the stiffness of her world or the noticeable absence of the spark of unnerving electricity she had experienced the first time she saw Freddie, but a rush of boldness came over her.

"Now are you siding with me because that's really what you believe or because you've fallen madly in love with me and are hoping to win my hand in marriage?"

He tucked his chin in surprise at her audacity but didn't seem deterred by it.

"While I do like a woman who speaks her mind and I confess a particular weakness for redheaded beauties, how about we share more than a two second conversation before we set the date?" He bantered back easily, "As a matter of fact, I wholeheartedly agree with you. I spend a great deal of my time tutoring several children from some of the poorer neighborhoods in London and I find them equally capable and a great deal more grateful than the children I have worked with from more privileged backgrounds."

"Are you a teacher then?" Rosamund was surprised, she had just assumed that all the gentleman invited to dinner that evening were of the aristocratic sort that her mother selected for her like prize stallions for a breeding mare.

"No, although I truly believe it is one of the most difficult and undervalued careers. I work with my father in his company which develops new strategies for automating factories and machine shops. Our chief goal is to make the work environments in these places safer for the employees, as well as faster and more efficient." He replied.

Rosamund thought for a second before asking carefully, "but by automating the processes, aren't you making it possible for these businesses to operate with fewer workers and thus putting people out of work?"

Marmaduke nodded regretfully.

"That is sometimes what occurs, although it depends largely on the industry. We work tremendously hard to offer retraining services to the current employees to teach them the new systems and how to operate the equipment but you are correct that with automation often comes a decrease in the need for unskilled labor. It is the direction industry is moving, with or without our help but I suppose that's also why I feel the need to tutor in my off hours. It helps me feel like I am placing the next generation in a position not to need the jobs we are getting rid of."

Rosamund couldn't help but be impressed with his generosity.

"That's very kind of you to give of your own time but that doesn't sound like it leaves a lot of time for fun. Aren't you worried about the old adage about 'Jack becoming a dull boy' and all that?" She teased playfully.

"You might have a point, except I've never been one for the traditional ways in which the gentlemen here tonight spend their leisure time. I can't stand hunting or cards and we have always lived in London so there was not much chance for riding. I love to read and play the piano forte or go to museums. I do enjoy being outdoors but I much prefer to walk through the countryside enjoying nature than riding past it shooting at things." He arched an eyebrow at her. "I suppose those things might make me a bit dull but I wasn't raised in this world. The business only started doing well rather recently and it all still seems quite foreign to me. My parents are intent on improving my prospects in life and I agree that the social aspect of doing business is a necessary evil to make the right contacts but who has what title and whose estate is the biggest doesn't interest me in the slightest. Do you find me terribly bookish and odd?"

She took a sip of her white wine before answering truthfully.

"Not odd at all, the word that first came to my mind was refreshing. After all, didn't Jane Austen once say, 'my idea of good company is clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation'?"

Now it was Marmaduke's turn to appear impressed.

"That's a wonderful quote. I must admit, I've not read a great deal many of Miss Austen's novels, I tend to prefer non-fiction and history but you might make a convert of me yet. I would love to get a female perspective on reading recommendations and ideas for the few girls who come to me for tutoring. My mother died when I was ten and so it's just been my father and myself for quite some time. If I wrote to you, would you be interested in corresponding? Purely for academic purposes, of course." He tossed a cheeky lopsided grin her way and its effect was contagious.

"Very well, but only if you promise not to fall in love with me."

She returned with a saucy flip of her fan and moved to the secretary to write the address down for him. Remembering her note to Freddie, Rosamund fought back a pang of what could only be described as guilt by reasoning that she was only agreeing to write a friendly letter, nothing more. She passed the paper to Marmaduke and waved a kindly farewell, thinking it might be nice to have something to keep her occupied while she waited anxiously for a sign from the elusive Mr. Carson.

Chapter 8

Several more tedious dinners passed as June wound to a close. Although neither Mr. Maxwell nor Sir Peterson returned, the company and conversation were all so indistinguishably odious, that by the time July peeked round the corner, Rosamund could not have identified a single dinner guest out of a police line-up. The morning of July first, however, she awoke with giddiness leaping and bounding inside her. She felt certain that he would come to her this evening, although she had received no hint of a response to her coded message. In bitter moments, her silent monologue grumbled that surely a fellow bright enough to pass for an Oxford literature major could come up with a way to let her know whether or not he was even thinking about her at all but then the remembrance of his hand entangled within her hair chastised her for the lack of faith in his obvious passion for her. She had already confided the plan to Elsie and the maid was prepared to provide her cover as she stole out of the side door behind the kitchen after the rest of the household was in bed or tending to their nightly chores. She had chosen a soft light blue gown that bared her shoulders and fell in unadorned peaks to the ground. All that was left to do was wait and watch the gate post all the while going about her day without pacing back and forth like a tiger left caged just outside a butcher shop.

By teatime, she thought she might go completely mad until she saw something shining reflectively in the grass sprouting up by the fence. She mumbled something incomprehensible about fresh air before dashing out the door and pouncing on the ground. The jar that seemed to be haunting her dreams like a torturous specter from an Edgar Allen Poe narrative was there and a single white rose was nestled in its depths. Rosamund looked around the field for further signs of life but saw only a small brown rabbit sniffing at her curiously. Clutching the jar to her chest, she blew a dizzy kiss to her furry onlooker before skipping back to the front door like a little girl on her way to a sweet shop. She knew it, she knew he felt the same unmistakable heart pounding attachment that had bewitched her since the first time his eyes met hers. Since the loss of her father, no one in the world had understood her the way Freddie did and tonight she was sure he would declare his love for her. All the obstacles that would come in the future, the disapproval of the families, the wait for him to finish university, all of that would somehow work itself out in service of that most noble of ideals: true, once in a lifetime love.

She feigned a headache and begged out of the usual after dinner glasses of sherry in the library. Mercifully, there were no gentleman callers present that evening so she had returned to her previous state of inconsequence. Robert and Cora spent the evening in the cocoon of their newly discovered tenderness that seemed to encase them in an unimpeachable glow whenever they were together and the Dowager Countess had been fuming about the soup's unacceptable tepidness for the last three courses of the meal. For once, the feeling of being an outsider within her own family provided a utility and Rosamund rang the bell for Elsie, knowing it would just be assumed that she needed help undressing for bed.

"There you are!" Rosamund exclaimed when the maid closed the door secretively behind her. "Come, we must hurry, I don't know how long he will wait for me."

Elsie finished undoing the pearl buttons on the back of Rosamund's scarlet evening gown and pulled it all the way off as her impatient charge ripped her gloves off in a frenzy.

"Now, now, dearie, if he's come all this way for you, I don't think he'll be put off by an extra five minutes."

She slipped the gauzy blue silk over Rosamund's head and fastened her in with elfin deftness. The lower half of Rosamund's hair was released from its pins until a thick twist spiraled down between her shoulder blades, the upper half still pulled away from her face in a crown of sunset colored curls. She smoothed the front of her dress and turned side to side before the mirror, anticipation ever building beneath crossed ties at her cinched in waistline. Turning to face Elsie for the final inspection, she asked "should I add jewelry? I feel like something is missing."

Elsie squinted, then her face lit up as she spied the white rose inside the mason jar placed carefully beside Rosamund's bed. She placed the blossom behind Rosamund's left ear and clapped her hands in satisfaction.

"That's perfect, you need no other accessory. A fairy princess is what you are." Elsie sighed girlishly, then straightened her face to its typical practiced beatific calmness. "I'm only going to say this once because I feel I must. Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this? I fear we might both get sent to the nunnery if you are caught."

Rosamund gave Elsie a look of stubborn resolve and she threw her hands up in the air.

"All right, that's good enough for me. You absolutely must be back before four, that's when the kitchen maids will be coming in to start cooking the morning meal. I'll go first to make sure the way is clear, then signal you on. Understand?"

Rosamund nodded wordlessly, thinking that the diminutive strategist opening the door cautiously before her had missed her calling and should have been leading the national intelligence organization as a master spy instead of tending to her hair and jewelry as a lady's maid. They crept down the corridor and down the back stairs towards the servant's quarters. Elsie disappeared through a heavy windowless door, then pushed it open with a heart stopping creak. Her mop cap covered head popped out from behind and nodded Rosamund through. Once into the servant's hall, the furtive pair slunk past the closed doors of the sleeping kitchen maids and down another flight of stairs before reaching the entry way to the back garden and freedom. Rosamund slipped into the night and looked back at Elsie. The maid blew her a gleeful kiss before disappearing back in the house. Rosamund hiked up her trailing skirt and ran past the rose lined hedges and into the grass that was already slippery with the first dew of the night.

He was walking back and forth anxiously when she came to a breathless stop a few feet before him. He stood perfectly still for just a moment, his eyes boring holes through her soul, before he strode to meet her in just three large steps. He offered another white rose to her and said shyly, "Here, will you hold this for a minute?"

As she accepted it and brought it to her nose to inhale the heady fragrance, he swept her up in his arms and lifted her straight in the air, whirling her round and round as the stars multiplied their number with every spin. Rosamund giggled and threw her head back in delight. He lowered her slowly, their bodies never leaving contact with one another and caught her lips in a kiss that was even more heavenly than the celestial ceiling twinkling above them.

"I thought your beauty was a sheer product of my imagination until I saw you coming this way just now." He whispered between planting his warm lips on her cheeks and down the side of her neck causing Rosamund to release small delirious gasps with each delectable touch. "My darling, I apologize for ravaging you so, I just couldn't help myself. I've thought of little else but the softness of your skin since the last time we met."

"I've been counting down the minutes until tonight. I'm so glad you got my note. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come tonight." Rosamund buried her cheek in one of his palms and gently kissed the smooth brown skin at the base of his thumb.

Freddie closed his eyes to inhale raggedly, then spoke with a hoarseness catching his throat. "I couldn't stay away. You must have dipped your pen in sugar before you wrote that, although you are lucky my brother didn't see it. He can read Latin too, you know."

Rosamund cringed, then shrugged playfully as she continued to place her lips lightly on each one of his fingertips, her eyes never leaving his. She stood on her toes and lifted her face to nuzzle into the notch where his neck and shoulder merged and noticed the flush of crimson that blazed across his skin like the wildfire she felt spreading inside her. He bit his lip before firmly taking a step backwards.

"Perhaps we should walk awhile, cool off in the night air a bit," he said as he stroked the delicate skin just under the lace edging on the back of her sleeves. She was certain the gooseflesh causing the hairs on her arm to stand upright had more to do with his trailing fingers than the dip in temperature but his gentlemanly restraint both impressed and enflamed her. She took his hand in his and led him past an avenue of young walnut trees and up a prominent green hillside. Atop the emerald mound stood another structure similar in style to the Etruscan temple which had become their signature destination. This architectural folly drew its inspiration from the Roman Temple of Diana with its peaked marble roof crowning tall pillars that stood guard to the empty coolness between. Rosamund hopped up the single step and wrapped her arm around one pillar then the next, weaving in and out in languid spirals. Freddie placed a single foot on the step and leaned forward on his knee, his eyes darkening to mirror the midnight sky. Rosamund reached the last pillar and paused to lift one hand and her chin upwards in salute to the moon, the other hand fanning her skirt behind her. In a shop window, she had seen a photograph of a dancer wearing Grecian inspired robes striking the same pose and the implied sensuality had enthralled her. She hoped the effect would be the same on Freddie and it seemed to be effective as he crept stealthily behind her and pulled her waist to his.

Freddie put his mouth just at her earlobes and whispered, "'she walks in beauty like the night,' Lord Byron could not have had a more perfect muse than I have before me here. Rosamund, my darling, I need you, more than I've ever needed anything or anyone in my life. I want you with me always, wherever I go."

His arms encircled her bodice, below which a mounting heat threatened to consume all sense of reason or logic. He plied firm kisses down the smooth slope of her neck and she gripped his forearms with all her strength in order to stay upright. Rosamund felt all sense of control over her own body giving way to pure unadulterated desire. She turned to face him and he pressed his body against hers, their lips crushing together in frenzied hunger. His hands roved her spine, gathering her unbound hair in his fist and tugging gently yet insistently. A primal moan emanated from deep within her and threatened to unlock an ancient part of her body, flooding, coursing, guiding her fingers down his chest to reach for the key.

His lips were ravishing her collarbone and a muffled groan resonated against her chest. With monumental effort, he grabbed her wrists and said in a strained voice, "my darling, you must not…..we cannot….if we continue, I fear I will not be able to stop myself."

Rosamund put both her hands on either side of his face and whispered, "don't stop, please, whatever you do, don't stop. I want you, all of you. Nothing has ever felt as right to me as this. You are the one for me, my love, forever. Please I need you."

Chapter 9

Her heart was still pounding in her ears as her breathing slowed and a rush of awareness returned her to the present. She sat up and rotated her torso away from him as she adjusted the top of her gown and returned the skirt to cover her legs. Twisting back to lay on her side, she noticed that he too had gathered up his pants and was fastening the clasp at the waist. He sat down next to Rosamund and collected her in his arms to lean against the refreshing frigidness of the pillar behind them. They sat together in silence, gazing upwards at the stars glistening between the dark reaches of the cedar branches encroaching the velvety blackness. She nestled her head against the solid warmth of his chest and sighed in contentment. Freddie kissed the disheveled curls that brushed against his chin and exhaled in return.

"My darling, I hope you don't think I intended for…..this to happen. I honestly was just happy to see you and hold you and kiss you. I never expected any of…." He paused again, hunting for the proper euphemism and finally giving up. "Well, at any rate, this wasn't my plan, you know that, right?"

Rosamund fought the drowsiness that was encroaching over her powers of alertness.

"Of course not, it was the last thing I thought would happen. But you're happy that it did, aren't you? Please don't feel that you've taken advantage, I'm eighteen years old, I'm a grown woman and I chose you. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, in fact…" she trailed off teasingly, walking her fingers slowly down the buttons of his white linen shirt.

Freddie laughed with relief and took the hand up to bring to his wide lips.

"I'll take that as the utmost of compliments, my beautiful girl, but I will need more than a moment to recover from our, ahem, exertions." He reached for his pocket watch and furrowed his brows in concern. "When did you say you have to be back?"

"Three o'clock, at the latest, why, what time is it?" Rosamund asked, panic replacing the delicious satisfaction surrounding her.

He grimaced and hurried to his feet before reaching a hand down to her.

"It's quarter til three, come on, Cinderella, let's get you home."

They rushed back down the hill with their hands intertwined, periodically looking at one another and stifling hysterical nervous giggles. Once Rosamund reached the gate bordering the garden, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, seeking confirmation of the promise their bodies had made to one another. He responded with all the passion of every happily ever after she had read throughout her childhood combined. She backed away, grinning absurdly and raised her hand in their own wordless goodbye. He raised his in reflection before vanishing into the dense foliage. Rosamund watched his retreating figure mournfully, longing for a day when they would never have to say goodbye again. Then a candle flickering in her window reminded her of the consequence of any delay and she picked up her skirts to flee down the serpentine garden path back to the side door. She painstakingly turned the door handle and pried it open only just enough to slip inside, then retraced her earlier footsteps down the corridor and through the entry to the servant's quarters. The hallway to her room was pitch black and she felt her way down, the familiarity of home her vision in the night. Once back to the sanctuary of her room, Rosamund walked back and forth in a daze. Everything in her room was the same, the damask patterned canopy over her four-poster bed, the stacks of her favorite novels over the fireplace mantle, the silver engraved hairbrush on her vanity, yet in the work of an evening, everything had changed.

Two weeks passed and Rosamund waited on pins and needles for anything from the man for whom she was risking everything but found herself once again with only her imagination to keep her company. This time her fantasies wandered between burning memories of their bodies entertwined, hopeful images of him kneeling down on one knee to ask for her hand and the occasional intrusion of paranoia that the whole thing was all in her head. She attended dinners, cricket matches, garden parties like a sleepwalker roaming without awareness or sight. One particularly scorching July afternoon, a letter arrived addressed to Miss Rosamund Crawley and she ran to the library for privacy before tearing it open rapaciously, hoping against hope to see Freddie's name scrawled at the bottom. Much to her dismay, it was from that kind gentleman from the disastrous dinner last month which her mother still referenced as the reason for Rosamund's decided lack of marriage proposals since coming out to society. She tossed it aside on an end table and dropped her head in her arms, wondering if she could really have been so foolish to have been seduced by a man who couldn't even be bothered to toss off a simple love letter.

"Ahem, Milady, are you all right?" A male voice interrupted her need for a good cry and she wiped her eyes quickly before turning to put a face to the intruding party. It was Mr. Blount, the footman who always seemed underfoot. Rosamund would have giggled at her own pun had her soul not been mired in hopelessness only minutes before.

"I'm fine, thank you, Blount. No cause for alarm here." She plastered on a weak attempt at a cheery countenance and stood up to leave.

Jim cleared his throat again and the nervous high pitch of his usual speaking voice deepened to a disturbingly lower register. "I take it the letter wasn't from the one who, how did you put it, you 'yearned for his lips on yours,'? Freddie Carson, the butler's brother, wasn't it?" He crossed his arms over his chest no longer resembling in the slightest a faithful lapdog but rather a wolverine catching a stray lamb in its teeth.

Rosamund froze, horrified. "How did you-what, I have no idea what you're talking about." She had no idea how he had gotten hold of her letter but figured at this point denial was the only defense she had at her disposal.

"Oh dearie, don't try to play innocent with me. I found your love letter in the book in Mr. Carson's room and after a few innocuous questions, put two and two together. I then copied your letter and put that in the book. The original, in your very distinct handwriting, is in a secure location known only to me. We should hate for it to fall into the wrong hands, shouldn't we?" He crooned as he advanced on her slowly. "Now here's what you're going to do. You're going to give me two thousand pounds in exchange for my silence on the matter, five thousand if you want the letter returned to you but I can't guarantee that I won't remember its content verbatim and if the subject should happen to arise again…." He smiled wickedly, baring his yellowing teeth at her. "Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it but suffice to say, I'm sure your mother or any man unlucky enough to marry such a foolish, simpering little girl, wouldn't be pleased to learn of its existence."

A sickening anger clenched inside Rosamund and she wasn't sure whether she was going to scream or vomit when she opened her mouth. "How dare you threaten me, I should have you reported to the police instantly!"

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, ducky. Just think, if that letter were to be made public knowledge, why, not only would your chances of a respectable marriage be ruined, but your little beau would go running for the hills in fear for his life. And poor Mr. Carson, I can't imagine that he would keep his job for long if your mother knew of his intimate connection to someone who tarnished her perfect daughter's reputation?" Mr. Blount clucked in mock pity. "No, you'll get me the money and you'll get it soon. I'll give you til the end of the week to make the necessary arrangements. I promise I'm not going anywhere."

With that ominous snarl, he turned on his heel and walked noiselessly out of the library. A blend of pure terror and queasiness churned the contents of her stomach and she bolted for the nearest exit, barely making it out the front door before falling to her knees and throwing up the entirety of her lunch. She wiped her mouth and choked back horrible tasting sobs before running to her room, feeling more naked and vulnerable than when she and Freddie had made love. She rang the bell for Elsie, over and over again, not knowing what else to do.

Elsie managed a single knock before Rosamund threw open the door and closed it hard behind her.

"Whatever is the matter, dear?" Elsie's eyes were wide with fright, her mob cap slightly askew from the rush to answer the unexpected summons. "Are you ill?"

Every single bit of air seemed to have been sucked out of the room and Rosamund sat down hard on her bed and wrapped her arms around herself, gasping for breath. When she finally managed to speak, she recounted her confrontation with the blackmailing footman.

"And now I have no idea what to do. If Mama finds out, she will never let me out of the house again and she'll fire Carson and Freddie will have to drop out of school and everyone in the world will hate me. But how could I give that kind of money to someone like that? He won't stop, he'll just keep coming at me for the rest of my life. What do I do, what in God's name do I do?"

She was nearly hysterical at this point and Elsie put her hands on Rosamund's shoulders and applied firm pressure. The sensation was strangely comforting and Rosamund felt her heart rate decrease almost back to normal and her shallow rapid breathing grew slower and more even.

Elsie looked Rosamund squarely in the face, fury shooting out of her light green eyes.

"We will find a way out of this." She said with determination so forceful Rosamund had no choice but to believe her.

The days crawled by with unforgivable sluggishness and Rosamund felt as though she spent most of them darting from her room to the dining room, terrified of running into her tormentor. Two days later saw mid-week arrive and she could take the intolerable waiting no longer. She slunk into the library, her eyes searching periodically for the dreaded footman's catlike steps. She pulled out pen and paper and dashed back to her room. Once safe in its confines, she wrote hurriedly to Freddie, explaining everything the footman had told her. She longed to sum it up with the love she felt for him bursting from every fiber of her body but instead resorted to the reliably safe Yours, Rosamund. She knew it was a gamble to send something with such explosive information by post to his home address but time and options were rapidly running out.

It was Thursday evening and Rosamund was pushing the food on her plate around with her fork. She had been unable to eat since Mr. Blount had delivered his ultimatum and even her favorite roasted quail with parsnips and mouthwatering sausage stuffing scented with thyme made her insides lurch in rejection. Elsie had shaken her head worriedly lacing up her corset as she dressed for dinner that afternoon.

"Keep this up and you won't have anything to worry about anyway, even Mr. Blount can't blackmail a skeleton," she fretted with motherly care.

Rosamund suspected Elsie's hand in the selection of her favorite dish for tonight's dinner but it was to no avail. She sighed and pushed the plate away without touching a bite.

Lady Violet glared down the table at her in disapproval.

"Rosamund, you are going to waste away to nothing. Come, come now, I know it's disappointing that you don't have a suitor yet but that's no reason to starve yourself. Worrying yourself gaunt isn't going to make you any more attractive, that's for certain."

Rosamund bit her lip, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow her whole, anything to end the misery plaguing her every second of every day.

The Countess shook her head and continued on,"besides, you're not the only one who has difficulties in this family. Poor Robert here had to sack one of the footmen this week, a Mr. Blount, wasn't it?"

Rosamund had started to sip from her glass of wine and choked, covering her mouth with her satin gloves to avoid spitting the fine chardonnay all over the tablecloth.

"He had to fire Mr. Blount? Is that true, Robert?" She concentrated on not letting her voice reflect the shocked hopefulness starting to quell the gnawing panic that had haunted her for days.

Robert smoothed the napkin over his lap before replying, "I'm afraid so. Apparently, the chap was raiding the other servants' rooms, going through their private possessions and stealing things. I confess, I don't know that I would even have recognized the man, he was quite new but the report was confirmed by two of the other household staff. I let Carson handle the matter, we agreed that charges wouldn't need to be filed if he left quietly without a reference."

It seemed too good to be true and Rosamund tried to contain the overwhelming relief that crashed over her until she knew for certain he was gone and would never return. The solid lump in the pit of her stomach that had stolen her appetite solidly refused to depart, despite the information she had just absorbed. Rosamund turned the story over and over again in her mind, trying to think of any way he could still come after her but as he had already been branded a thief, any story he might try to peddle would only look like the bitter lies of a disgruntled former employee. She could scarcely make it through dessert before racing back to her room to tell Elsie the good news.

As soon as the maid entered the room, Rosamund grabbed her hands and whirled her around in jubilation.

"Did you hear the news? Blount's been sacked, he was stealing from some of the other staff and he's gone, please tell me he's gone for good," Rosamund begged.

Elsie grinned triumphantly and said, "I had heard, indeed. Who d'you think was the employee he was caught stealing from?"

Rosamund paused in her jig and gaped at Elsie's sly expression.

"You're mad. You accused him of stealing from you? But wait, Robert said there were two reports of theft. If you were just making it up to get rid of him for me, who was the other one who said he was robbed?"

Elsie chuckled.

"It seems Carson isn't the stick in the mud we might have taken him for. Don't be mad at me but I told him some of what was going on. No, no, don't look at me like that, I said nothing about you and his brother. I simply told him that he was using a little flirtation that you had going on as blackmail against the family. That was reason enough for him, Carson might be a bit of a fuddy duddy, but he has loyalty and honor in spades. He would protect anyone in this family with his own life, mark my words."

Elsie's face flushed to a bright pink as she described the surprising hero of their tale.

Rosamund tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow appraisingly at her confidante.

"Why, Elsie Hughes, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were developing a bit of a crush on Mr. Carson! Do you think he feels the same way about you?"

Elsie tried to rebuff Rosamund's suspicions but all that came out were spluttering non-verbal exclamations and a resultant shift in her facial discoloration from light mauve to brick red.

"Absolute poppycock, is what that is. Even if I did fancy him, just a trifle, he would never feel the same way and he certainly wouldn't act on it. He's in service, to him it's as good as joining a monastery except he's devoting himself to this family instead of to our Heavenly Father."

It had never occurred to Rosamund to think about the sacrifices their staff made to maintain their luxurious lifestyle. The system just was what it was and the servants all had seemed happy enough with their lots in life, although Rosamund had never paid enough attention to any of them besides Elsie to give that thought any credence. Surely if there was a way to make the system more equitable for the staff to have a personal life and pursuit of their dreams, someone much more astute than her would have thought of it already. Perhaps when she and Freddie married, they could start a new way of doing things. Rosamund rolled her eyes at the presumption of marriage to the man who had yet to even tell her that he loved her but she couldn't banish the dream of him beaming proudly at her from the end of the church aisle, no matter how hard she tried. He must feel the same way as she, the way they joined together as one, in thought, in humor, in desire for one another, she couldn't have made that up…could she?

She didn't have to wonder very much longer as the next morning saw the return of the prodigal mason jar to its home at the base of the gate post, half hidden by rose petals falling steadily from the dying blooms. Rosamund whooped out loud with glee when she saw it and then looked around to make sure he wasn't still there to hear her. He had received her letter! Rosamund couldn't wait to tell him the resolution to their dilemma that had taken place since she had taken the bold step of writing to him at home and sending it on at the post office with a quid passed along to the postmaster to make sure it was delivered in a timely fashion. Now they were free, free to confess their true feelings and begin planning a future together. She floated back inside, clutching the hot glass to her bodice and counting down the hours until he was in her arms instead.

There was no way of knowing what time he would arrive. The inconsistency of their contact with each other made Rosamund long for the time that was soon approaching when they could be in the open with their intentions towards one another, despite the hassle they would naturally receive at first from their families. So very soon, they could spend every afternoon together, walking hand in hand, at each other's side to make even the dullest official luncheon bearable by laughing about it together afterwards. Then he would finish school and they could take their place together, a new type of society couple ready for the new century. The thought buoyed Rosamund's heart into the clouds and a secret smile played at her lips throughout the evening. She excused herself early after lunch and stayed in the library until she heard her mother frostily announce to the servants that she would be repairing to her room for a rest. As soon as Lady Violet's lavender clad figure disappeared up the staircase, Rosamund sprinted for the door and out to their meeting spot, skipping through the bed of peonies like a gladhearted sprite.

Freddie appeared to be anything but glad as he paced frantically in front of the temple. As soon as he spotted her, he ran both hands through his hair before stepping towards her with purpose.

"Rosamund, my darling, what were you thinking? I knew it was foolish for you to send that note in the book Carson gave me but to send something to my house? What if my parents had read it? They would have my head, I'd be on the first boat to the States by now, anything so that my brother keeps his precious job." His handsomely structured face had contorted in asymmetry with frustration and worry.

She looked down at her feet in embarrassment before formulating a response.

"I know it was a gamble but I didn't know what else to do, I was beside myself trying to deal with that awful man. It's all going to be all right, though, my dearest, we don't have anything to worry about-"

Freddie held up a hand to cut her off.

"We don't have anything to worry about? Have you lost your senses? Don't you realize what could happen? If your family finds out about us, they'll sack Charlie for sure and there's no way I could return to school. I'll spend the rest of my days working on the bloody farm next to my brother who will spend the rest of his days reminding me of my stupid mistake."

Rosamund stepped back, the word mistake ringing in her ears like a gunshot. This was not going at all how she had thought it would.

"Is that what I've been to you, a mistake? Yes, our families won't be pleased with the match at first but they love us and we….we love each other, don't we?" She was beyond skirting the word at this point, hurt and fear driving her to completely forget that the issue of blackmail was no longer on the table. "They were going to find out eventually, so why not just get it over with now?"

He laughed a hollow joyless version of his former mirth and turned away from her to take a few furious steps. Putting one hand over an engraved stone frieze and returning to face her, Freddie looked up at the cloudless sky before answering in cold disbelief.

"You honestly don't understand what people face in the real world. You read your novels and your fairy tales and you dream of venturing to exotic destinations and true love conquering all but you have no plans, no goals, no ambition. You're steering a ship through a storm without a rudder to guide you, counting on blind faith to get you to your happily ever after. Real life doesn't work like that. Do you have any idea what kind of pressure I'm under at home? I'm doing the lion's share of the chores all day, studying every night to stay afloat with my coursework for next term. Every time I come here to pick up money from my brother, he never fails to remind me how hard he is working for me and my future at which time he assumes I will be able to repay him. Everything is on my shoulders and now you're saddling me with your fantasy of us as starcrossed lovers? It's just too much, I can't do it anymore."

His chiding tone and derisive accusations sliced Rosamund to the bone. The ground underneath seemed to be crumbling piece by piece and the sensation only caused her to reach out for him with even greater need.

"I never wanted to put any more pressure on you, I understand the position you're in. I just thought…." Rosamund stopped herself, tears gathering in her throat and pricking behind her eyes. "I thought you felt the same way that I did, I thought you were in love with me. I know I'm in love with you. You're the only one for me, for the rest of my life, I can't imagine loving anyone the way I love you. I don't need us to get engaged or anything right now, I'll wait as long as it takes, just please, my love, please tell me you still feel the same way." The tears were streaming openly down her cheeks and Rosamund envisioned the cracks in her heart forming as she realized that they might be parting forever in much the same manner they had first met.

The anger that had hardened his posture and voice melted slightly and he returned her plea with contrition and uncertainty.

"I don't know what I feel, like I said it's just all too much for me right now. At one point, I really thought that I might have felt that way but now…I just don't know. I care for you a great deal, truly I do, but right now I just feel like I need to back away, to take some time to focus on my studies and prepare for my future as a professor and a writer."

Rosamund's voice cracked with the sobs that regrouped every time she tried to gulp them away.

"A future without me, is that really what you want? Is there really nothing I can do or say to change your mind? You don't think there's a chance for us at all?"

She could practically see the wrestling match in his head as the right answer to their conflict evaded him. The look in his eyes was no longer love, had it ever been love, she wondered despondently. Now there was only doubt and worst of all, regret.

"There's just so much about us that doesn't seem to add up, no matter how much I might want it to. Maybe if we had met later in life, after I was established, but your family expects you to be married now. I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment at this point, even if our families could be persuaded to approve. The timing simply….isn't right."

The genuine remorse in his voice kept aglow in Rosamund's heart the tiny stream of light from a door left barely ajar but his words resounded with the finality of a coffin lid slamming shut. They stood only two feet apart but worlds away and drifting farther by the second. She could no longer refute the sorrow that burst from her in heaving gasps. Unable to help himself, he reached out to comfort her and she fell into his chest, weeping unabashedly into the prickly fibers of his jacket. He lifted her chin to brush the tears away with both hands and searched her face for absolution. Their lips touched gently, then hungrily, the saltiness of her tears coating the kiss with the bitterness of unanswered prayers. Rosamund started to reach for the buttons at his collar but he pushed her hands down.

In a quiet, resigned voice, he said, "I can't, it's not fair to either of us. I must go before we do any further damage. Goodbye, my darling Rosamund, please don't hate me."

Not willing to risk hearing her answer, he took off, his stride cutting through the field undeterred by the golden threshes in his path. Rosamund covered her mouth with one hand to stifle a wail as her heart shattered, her other arm wrapped around her waist where his hands had last left her. Her legs wobbled and crashed beneath her and unfathomable pain breached every inch of her skin he had ever touched. The distant cry of a whippoorwill must have come from another distant world, since the one she inhabited no longer bore the right to continue turning. She had never felt more alone than she did at that moment.

That sentiment was proven wrong, however, exactly one week later as she lay in bed, immobilized by nausea every time she lifted her head. Her courses, which had arrived like clockwork at the same time each month for the past five years, were noticeably absent. She was pregnant.

Part 2

Chapter 10

When her father had died, Rosamund underwent a lengthy period of denial. It was not difficult as his passing had been incredibly sudden and unexpected. He had seemed the picture of health the day he left the Abbey for his meeting with his accountant in London, giving her one of his trademark squeezes before cheerily whistling his way out the door. The massive heart attack had struck him just as he had stood to conclude the meeting, according to the accountant, and had been instantly fatal. Lady Violet had been the only one to see his body before it was interred and therefore, Rosamund was left without the closure that accompanies the slow wasting of old age and the finality of saying one's last goodbyes. For months, she could not accept that he was really gone, that he would never again come through that door with his arms open wide to envelope her.

Once again, she was thrust into the out of body experience that her current life was simply too wrong to be real. She went through her day to day activities telling herself that she was mistaken, it was just the rigors of heartbrokenness clouding her reason. Yet, the truth forced its way through her illusion of normalcy, as it always does, and her symptoms proclaimed themselves with irrefutable clarity. From the incapacitating nausea that began as soon as she arose and persisted throughout her morning ablutions, to the bone-deep exhaustion to the tingling heaviness of her breasts which were bursting indelicately in every outfit she tried on, no medical assessment was required. One night of unbridled ardor had been enough to destroy her entire life.

For once in her life, Rosamund didn't want to retreat into her daydreams. The divide between her heart's desire and her present circumstances was too great to be bridged by any impossible stretch of her imagination. She wandered aimlessly throughout the great house, unfazed by her niece's persistent screeching or the stern fixation of Robert's protective stare. Feeling increasingly like Cathy's spectral character from Wuthering Heights, Rosamund's tether connecting her to the solidness of her surroundings frayed thinner and thinner until at last it snapped.

The only thought on her mind at that moment was escape. She wasn't even sure how she got to the open hallway overlooking the vast drop to the main entrance nor how one of her legs started to lift over the bannister of its own volition. The lack of control over her own body had caused a fog to descend over her entire being and its ability to function and there seemed to be no way out of the terrifying mist except down. Rosamund felt nothing, not fear, not guilt, not even satisfaction at the thought of Freddie's anguish-stricken face upon hearing the news. All she wanted was an end to the misery of her insoluble dilemma and the only answer seemed to call from a place not of this earth. She shifted her weight to her arms to make the transition to the other side of the railings when a woman's cry pierced through the haze clouding her vision. Rosamund looked right and left, there was no one to be seen but another heartrending wail sounded from Robert and Cora's bedroom. Without thinking, Rosamund swiftly brought her leg back from the precipice of eternity and ran down the corridor. She knocked on the door once, then opened it to find Cora sitting at the edge of her bed with her head in her hands and Dr. Clarkson standing next to her with a sorrowful countenance.

"Cora, what's wrong?" Rosamund gasped, unable to see any evidence of injury or illness about the scene.

Cora lifted her tear streaked face, the aquamarine eyes Rosamund so coveted filled to the depths with grief. She looked to Dr. Clarkson, then back at Rosamund before opening her mouth. The voice that Cora so obviously worked to repress now failed her and only weak sobs made their way out into the vacuous silence. Dr. Clarkson pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder, then made his way across the room to Rosamund and spoke with hushed tones.

"Lady Cora has suffered a miscarriage. It was fairly early in the pregnancy and some bleeding can be common but the amount she has experienced demonstrates fetal demise."

Cora's whimpers rose to a groan of acute pain at the term and she clutched her abdomen pitifully, rocking back and forth just as she did when holding baby Mary.

Dr. Clarkson looked back at her with visible compassion before continuing to explain, "I have performed an examination and the circumstances seem to be what I had feared the night of her delivery. The scar tissue in her womb is continuing to disturb the attachment of the placenta to the fetus. She will be unable to carry another pregnancy to term and the farther along she might progress in one, the greater the likelihood of fatality to both her and the child."

Rosamund's heart ached for her despondent sister-in-law and she sat on the edge of the bed to reach her arm around Cora's narrow shoulders that were wracked with uncontrollable shaking. She had been so engulfed by her own condition, she had not even realized that Cora was pregnant as well. It seemed so horribly unfair that inside her, growing stronger minute by minute, was a perfectly healthy yet wholly impossible child, yet here was a wonderful mother lost in despair for the children she would never be able to have. An idea crystallized in Rosamund's mind and before she had time to let it germinate into fruition, she was talking out loud in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

"She can have my baby."

Cora's weeping fell silent and she lifted her head from Rosamund's shoulder to gawk in confusion.

Dr. Clarkson sputtered, "Lady Rosamund, what in heaven's name are you talking about? Are you…..with child?"

Rosamund felt a wave of dizziness sweep through her as she opened her mouth to confess to the pair what she had been unwilling to admit to herself.

"Yes, I'm pregnant, since the first of July."

Once the words came spilling forth, it was as if someone had lit all the lamps in the room and her vision sharpened from the dimness that had plagued her since the realization of her compromised position.

"It was my own fault, I fell in love with someone who never really loved me at all and now he's gone so I didn't know what I was going to do but now it makes perfect sense. Robert and Cora can have my baby, I will be the child's aunt. Dr. Clarkson, you can tell everyone that Cora is pregnant and we can conceal my belly as long as possible, then maybe Cora and I can go somewhere, London or something, at the very end when it becomes too difficult to hide my belly and her lack thereof. While we're there, I can deliver at our townhouse and then Cora can bring the baby home as her own."

Despite the confidence of her words, Rosamund began to feel less and less sure of herself as the stunned expressions of the doctor and her sister-in-law processed all that she was telling them. After what seemed like a lifetime, Cora spoke.

"Are…..are you sure about this? Rosamund, this is the most amazingly wonderful thing anyone has ever offered to do for me but what if you change your mind? You've never had a baby, you don't know what it's like to hold your own flesh and blood in your arms, to feel a piece of your heart outside yourself. I want nothing more than to have another child and it doesn't matter to me whether that child is from my body or someone else's but I love you too much to push you into doing this unless it's what you truly want."

The image of Freddie's full lips and waves of gilded hair on a child, an ever-present reminder of the love of her life she would never see again, impaled her with fresh agony and she took up both of Cora's hands in her own.

"I am absolutely certain this is the right thing to do. I could never care for a child on my own and I don't even want to think about what Mama might do or make ME do if she finds out what I've done. This is best for everyone, don't you see? Dr. Clarkson, can you help us?"

Dr. Clarkson covered his mouth with his hand and stroked his dark beard with great consideration.

"Medically, I am bound not to disclose any information you wish to keep confidential and I have sworn an oath to do no harm. I can see no physical harm resulting from this, although Lady Rosamund, you should prepare for there to be severe psychological repercussions of such an event. It is not my place to serve as moral counsel for either of you, that is the job of the church. If you wish for me to care for your health during your pregnancy and not divulge awareness of its existence to anyone outside this room, then I am obligated to do so."

Cora gripped Rosamund's hands with affectionate ferocity.

"I'm afraid to ask you again if you are certain-" she started before Rosamund stopped her abruptly.

"Then don't. The decision has been made. I swear on my life, this child is yours and we will never let anyone else know otherwise."

An emotion just shy of relief snuck into Rosamund's soul as Cora threw her arms around her and wept again, this time with gratitude softening the chord of loss. She had no idea whether their endeavor would succeed or how they would be able to convince everyone of its verity but it seemed their only option was to somehow make it work. She had heard gossip of similar tales, young ladies who disappeared from society with implausible stories of poor health and educational opportunities but they would return months later, looking shaken and drawn. The family would acquire a ward shortly thereafter, a poor orphaned infant of a distant friend or relative no one had heard of before then. Speculation would circulate and then die down as new fodder for the vultures manifested itself but a profound change in the unfortunate girls' faces never went away. Rosamund had always assumed that these foolish souls had brought their dire fates upon themselves with frequent dalliances of promiscuousness; surely, it couldn't happen after just one misstep in the cover of moonlight. She resolved to herself never again to judge others without first hearing the full story, then clapped her hand over her mouth as an ominous gag prompted her to run for the nearest wastebasket and heave the contents of her stomach into the unlucky receptacle. Cora leapt up and pulled Rosamund's hair back from her face and for the first time, their sisterhood felt more than superficial.

As Rosamund had predicted, the initial stages of their deception were not difficult to carry off. She was not known to be an enthusiastic riser in the morning hours, so waiting for the morning sickness to subside before ringing for Elsie was not seen as out of character. The popular dress of the day restricted waistlines with stiffly lined bodices over the oppressive torture of corsets so any obvious change would be obscured by the dictates of fashion for the first few months. One month later Robert and Cora announced their upcoming bundle of joy due to arrive the following spring and Rosamund noted with a pang of envy how her brother's eyes shone as he lovingly shadowed his wife wherever she went, ready to guard her and his child against the vicissitudes of the world. She had kept one eye perpetually on the post at the end of the garden wall, praying for the mason jar to materialize from thin air. She imagined Freddie's heartfelt plea for her forgiveness, his impassioned pledge of undying love. The tiny and very real plot twist swelling the base of her abdomen never entered into the dialogue but it didn't need to as the reunion remained locked in the realm of fiction only. It was as if he had vanished into the foliage from which he had first appeared, conjured into flesh and made man by the sheer force of Rosamund's despair.

One crisp Fall afternoon, while Elsie was lacing up her corset and Rosamund was sucking in her mildly protruding stomach for dear life, she asked tentatively if Carson ever mentioned anything about his brother.

Elsie wiped the beads of sweat escaping below her chestnut brow and gave one final tug before answering carefully.

"Are you sure you want to know? Sometimes it's best not to ask questions you don't want to hear the answer to."

This unexpectedly cryptic response piqued Rosamund's curiosity in a decidedly morbid direction and so she pressed on.

"Yes, of course I do. I still love him, just because we had a fight doesn't mean things can't work out for us. He would have started back at University this week and I just want to know if he's all right, that's all."

Elsie deliberated with herself for several heartbeats as she turned to the wardrobe to fetch Rosamund's evening gown. When she turned around, arms full of rose printed ivory taffeta, her eyes were reddened and glistening. Rosamund's heart started to race with alarm.

Elsie sniffled, "Oh, dearie, I hated to be the one to tell you this, although, now that I think of it, I'm the only one that can. He stopped by last week, on his way to Oxford, to pick up the money for his tuition. I saw him and Carson talking, but I couldn't hear what they were saying as I was all the way across the hall in the kitchen. I asked Carson later who it was he was speaking with and he told me it was his brother."

Knowing that he had been so near, that he had been in this house but not made the slightest effort to contact her or make amends, wounded Rosamund deeply. She took a deep breath and tried to stay rational.

"Well, he must have had a train to catch or something. He is such a proud man, I'm sure he wants to see me and apologize but maybe he doesn't think I will accept it. Maybe if you could find out from Carson how I could get in touch with him at the University, I could write to him, let him know I'm not angry-"

Elsie then tore apart the hopeful web Rosamund had been weaving in her head for weeks with one remorseful stroke.

"He's seeing someone else, milady. A girl from their village, for a few weeks now. Carson didn't know how serious it was but he seemed to think…..he believed that they might get engaged over the Christmas holiday."

A gunshot through her heart couldn't have felled Rosamund more thoroughly and her hands waved wildly as she groped for something to hang on to. Elsie grabbed around her waist and pulled her back to the bed as Rosamund's feet gave way. The paid toppled onto the linen bedspread and Rosamund's corset strings burst apart in the melee. Rosamund hurriedly pulled the front of her undergarments up to cover herself but Elsie jumped off the bed and stared directly at her midsection in horror.

"Lady Rosamund….are you….you're not…..dearie, are you pregnant?"

Rosamund swallowed hard, pushing down the bile that had leapt into her throat at the dismaying news about her beloved.

"What are you talking about? For heaven's sake, have you been nipping in the wine cellar?"

She coughed and tried to laugh but the effort only exacerbated the queasiness and Rosamund put her head between her knees.

Elsie shook her mob cap in disbelief.

"Dearie, I've been a lady's maid for five years and before that, I was the oldest of six children. I've seen enough pregnant women in my lifetime to know the signs. You're what, over three months along now?"

Rosamund lifted her head and gasped. Elsie's granny would have been proud of her granddaughter's frighteningly accurate intuition.

"Almost exactly, how on earth did you know?"

Painful disappointment etched itself into every crevice of Elsie's malleable face as the worst nightmare she could have imagined for her charge turned her friend was confirmed.

"For one, I assume the blessed event took place the night you snuck out on July first, yes?" She didn't even pause for Rosamund to nod as she barreled on. "For another, you've been calling for me at least an hour later than usual and falling asleep every afternoon the entire month of August and most of September, which you never do. Finally, your corset has taken every ounce of me strength to tighten up for the last few weeks and you've not gained an ounce since I started with ye."

The thick accent that Elsie usually masked with her careful pronunciation and proper grammar slipped out in a display of true emotional upheaval. Rosamund could see that there was no point in continuing the charade, as eventually she was going to need Elsie's help anyway.

"It's true, it happened that night and yes, the baby is his but he doesn't know. I was in a dreadful state until I heard Dr. Clarkson examining Cora and she was devastated because she can't have any more babies. I told her she could have mine and Dr. Clarkson agreed to check in on me from time to time and assist with the delivery. When I can't hide it anymore, Cora and I will go to London, with only you as our staff, and we will stay there until the baby is born. When it's safe to travel, we'll return home and tell everyone that Cora gave birth while we were there and she and Robert will raise the baby as their own. It's the best solution for everyone, the only solution, don't you see? Oh, Elsie, won't you say anything? Are you so very ashamed of me?"

Elsie's mouth, which had not closed since she had touched Rosamund's stomach, now shut in a tight thin line before she parted her lips to speak with a tender ferocity.

"There is no possible way I could ever be ashamed of you, dearie. On the contrast, I was speechless at how brave you are. You are certainly not the first young lady to find yourself in this….predicament, and I'd eat my hat if you were the last but you have managed to find a way to turn a terrible problem into something beautiful and generous. There are others that would have turned to dark, unspeakable places to rid themselves of an unwanted child but you chose to sacrifice yourself for your family. Ashamed, never. I couldn't be prouder of you if you were me own daughter."

This was the opposite of the reaction Rosamund had anticipated and between Elsie's surprising show of support, the idea of Freddie being nearly engaged to someone else and the emotional instability prompted by rising hormones, Rosamund let loose an onslaught of tears that she feared might truly never dry. After the deluge subsided enough for words to break through, she turned to Elsie for affirmation.

"So, you'll help me then? You'll be by my side throughout the whole thing?"

The young lady's maid jutted out her chin with a loyal defiance.

"It would be my honor, milady."

Chapter 11

With Elsie's strategic dressing expertise and the blissful end to the unbearable nausea she had experienced in the first stage of pregnancy, October and November passed comparatively uneventfully for Rosamund. The nascent chill in the air provided the perfect excuse for her to carry a thick shawl with her everywhere which she used to drape over her the ever-widening girth of her belly. Every so often, she would see Cora cast an eye towards the hidden bulge with sad longing carving its sharp edges into the soft porcelain of her features. She knew that Cora had been choosing to dress herself, claiming a protective modesty over her changing body and had been adding layers to her undergarments to assume the mantle of pregnancy but Rosamund wondered how her partner in crime was able to the lack of gestation from her own husband. As a glimmering frost seemed to permanently crust the ground and force its inhabitant into the close proximity of hibernation indoors, she observed that the air wasn't the only thing that had grown frigid. Robert and Cora's bubble of new love seemed to have frozen and burst with winter's icy touch. The frequent touches and shared looks of warm tenderness between the pair seemed to have disappeared with the last rays of the Indian summer sun.

One particularly cold day. Rosamund was making her way down the stairs when she heard a pair of raised voices coming from the library. She halted in her tracks, unsure of how to proceed without seeming as though she had been eavesdropping and the discomfort of her tightly girded waistline making a quick and quiet exit unlikely. The voices grew louder and she recognized a rare outburst of anger from Robert.

"I don't understand how you can talk of going to London at this stage in the pregnancy? What in God's name could be in London that you can't get here at home?"

Cora's voice floated through the hall, notes of frustration in her tone.

"I told you, Rosamund asked me to as a special favor. She wants to be part of the social scene in London and needs a chaperone. You can't expect your mother to do it and she has no one else. I want to help her, she is the only sister that I have."

Robert made a rather impolite scoffing sound.

"And what about me? I'm only your husband, after all, only the father of the child you're carrying and putting at risk by going gallivanting about the city at this stage of pregnancy. It just feels like you've been pushing me away ever since you found out you were pregnant. You won't let me sleep with you or even touch you. When you were pregnant with Mary, you let me feel every kick, every nudge. It's like you can't stand to be near me now. I don't know what I could have possibly done to make you shut me out this way."

The rejection in his voice was unmistakable and Rosamund's heart broke at her brother's uncharacteristic vulnerability. Cora's voice melted into meek contrition as she implored him for understanding.

"There's nothing you have done, you've been wonderful. It's just different this time, I can't explain it any better than that. After all that happened with Mary's delivery, isn't it reasonable to expect me to feel frightened that something might go wrong? Aren't I allowed to make decisions about my own body and who touches it and when?"

Her plea went unanswered as Rosamund watched her brother exit the library in a huff. Cora followed suit but went in the opposite direction after closing the door behind her. Neither saw Rosamund's figure posed in statue like immobility at the top of the landing. She crept into the library to seek comfort in Northanger Abbey and stretch her aching joints on the settee by the fire. She rang the bell for a cup of tea and thumbed the shelves for the well-worn copy of her favorite novel. As she passed the secretary, a piece of paper that seemed to have fallen behind the tall desk caught her eye. She knelt with some difficulty to retrieve it and was surprised to see her name at the header as she pulled herself up with some help from the heavy desk chair. It was the letter from Marmaduke Paineswick, the one that had fluttered away forgotten in the midst of her turmoil over Mr. Blount's foiled attempt at blackmail.

"Dear Lady Rosamund,

I'll keep this brief as to not bother you overly much with unwarranted verbiage. I enjoyed our chat the other night immensely. It's always a relief to meet someone in this world you can actually talk to and laugh with and I felt able to comfortably do both with you. I was serious about hoping for some feminine input on my tutelage but in truth, I was also hoping for a reason to talk to you again. If you feel so inclined to respond with a reading list, appeal for political support, an ear for further indictments on the current inequity of the educational system, or even a good joke (I'm especially partial to puns), feel free to send a note this way. If you don't, I won't be offended, my feelings are of tougher stuff than that and after all, I did promise not to fall in love with you. I'd ask the same in response of you, but let's face it, I'm irresistible and you're only human (it's all right to laugh out loud while reading that last bit). I hope to hear from you soon.

With best wishes,

Marmaduke Paineswick"

Rosamund smiled inwardly and folded the letter up. She lowered herself into the chair and arched her back which ached with the strain of balancing a forward shifting center of gravity. She reached for a draft of paper and wrapped her ever present knit shawl around her shoulders before beginning to write.

"Dear Mr. Paineswick,

I hope this letter find you in good health. I apologize for the delay in response, your original letter had become lost behind a desk and I only found it just now. I would be happy to provide you with some guidance into the academic workings of the female mind. We are having a Christmas Eve party here at Downton Abbey. The pleasure of your company would be a welcome addition and we can further discuss your pupils and my suggestions and perhaps I will be able to come up with a witty pun or two for you by then. Respond as you are able and we will reserve a place for you. Hopefully there will not be a need for you to come to my defense during the meal but I can't make any promises except to promise that I won't be falling in love with you either as I am beginning to think that such a thing exists only in the pages of novels, one of which (Northanger Abbey) I am going to read right now and highly recommend as instructive for both male or female students of appropriate ages including yourself. There may or may not be a test on it which you shall need to pass before receiving your Christmas present.

Best regards,

Lady Rosamund"

She folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope before she had the chance to change her mind. Then placing it in the outgoing mail pile, she rose awkwardly from the chair and returned to the shelves for anything to distract her from the havoc she seemed to wreak for all the people she cared for the most.

As the bannister rails were festooned with thick garlands of holly and an enormous fir tree was lugged into the grand foyer, Rosamund was finding it increasingly more difficult to hide her blossoming figure. Elsie worked miraculous optical illusions with fabric draped over her waistline and had suggested Rosamund take up needlepoint to carry with her everywhere to hold over her stomach, still the time had come to relocate to London as soon as possible. Rosamund had seized a rare solitary moment with her mother to bring up the matter and Lady Violet had been all too quick to agree.

"I daresay, a change of scenery will do you good. You've been moping around the house for months like one of those dreadful Bronte girls. The London nightlife will be the perfect opportunity to make some new acquaintances, perhaps those who haven't heard about your tendency to instigate socialist revolutions at the dinner table."

A gentle snow soon blanketed the manor house and its surrounding landscape with pillows of shapeless iridescence and before Rosamund could blink, the bells of the church were echoing through the village to announce the celebration of the Christ child. The Crawley family dutifully handed out their gifts to the local children before returning to the house for the evening's festivities. Elsie's artistic eye for detail was on full display in Rosamund's elegant burgundy velvet gown with short translucent net sleeves embroidered by bands of gold thread and two large roses affixed to the bust line to distract from Rosamund's waist which could only be forced into submission so far before her ribs cracked in two. A delicate golden tiara glinting with faceted garnets and matching choker completed the ensemble. A long white fur stole served as both a regal wintry accessory and necessary cover as she could hardly bring her trailing needlepoint to a dinner party.

Rosamund glided through the crowd of finely dressed aristocrats, searching for the footman passing the plate of hors d'oeuvres when a familiar face caught her eye. Marmaduke Paineswick, in an expertly tailored silk tuxedo, caught her eye and waved with unrefined enthusiasm. She lifted one white gloved hand in acknowledgement and weaved through the crowd to greet him.

"I'm so pleased you could make it," she said sincerely. "It's so nice to see a familiar face, I don't believe I recognize more than a handful of the people Mama invited this year."

He surveyed the room apprehensively and nodded in agreement.

"I must confess, I'm not much of a party person. Small gatherings, three or four people I'm fine with but after about an hour of this kind of event, I'm ready to retreat to my comfortable leather chair and my fireplace for some restorative solitude."

"Why did you come to this one then?" Rosamund asked with a teasing gesticulation of her stole.

"Well, the food, for one," he said cheekily as he reached for a tray of canapes set just behind him and handed her a wild morel and goat cheese tartlet. Rosamund's bound stomach grumbled audibly and she accepted his offer gladly.

"In addition, the chance to see you again was too good to pass up. There is this pesky little goal we have of world peace that I was hoping you would be able to solve by the time we had polished off the goose," he continued, a hint of gold twinkling in his hazel eyes.

Rosamund groaned, "I did so hope you wouldn't remember, that evening was absolutely mortifying. I honestly don't know what came over me, I'm never that assertive. I promise you nothing of the sort will be occurring tonight, it is Christmas Eve, after all, peace and goodwill and all that. Not to mention, Mama has insisted that Father Christmas will be leaving me nothing but coal if I offer an opinion diverging from the recent snowfall totals or the lovely new awning at the local butchery."

Marmaduke feigned a disappointing pout before stuffing a pate topped toast point in his mouth with relish.

"What a pity. I suppose we shall just have to arrange another meeting without your mother to talk about anything you might actually be interested in. What are your plans for New Year's Eve?"

"I'll be leaving for London with my sister-in-law the day after Christmas," Rosamund replied. "We'll be there for at least two months or three months. There's not much to do in the country during the winter," she added hastily, hoping her story didn't sound too feeble.

"Capital!" Marmaduke exclaimed as he dusted the crumbs from his fingers. "I'll be there as well, at least through January, then Father and I will be travelling to the States for six weeks for a consulting job at some factories in Manhattan. Might I request the pleasure of your accompaniment to a party at the Ritz to ring in the New Year? I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend the evening with."

Her chest constricted with remorse as Rosamund thought suddenly that she wished she could agree but the face of the individual with whom she would rather spend every evening with floated into her head. At once she remembered that at this very moment the man she had thought was her Prince Charming might be kneeling in front of some nameless, faceless girl from his village who couldn't possibly be his destined princess. Rosamund swallowed hard, the last morsels of tart turning to sawdust in her mouth and answered Marmaduke with counterfeit excitement.

"It's a date."

Christmas came and went with the rush of a single breath expelling the flame from the decorative candles atop the tree. Rosamund's had enough clothes to last the winter packed in her trunks and she descended the stairs carefully as she could hear Cora explain once again that they would only require a single lady's maid between them.

"Honestly Robert, I prefer to dress myself these days and it's not like I will be needing to make myself terribly presentable. Rosamund is the one on display, I'm just the matronly chaperone watching over the beautiful young belle of the ball," she protested, smiling up at Rosamund warmly as she joined the pair at the front door.

Robert looked back and forth between the two of them, loving concern searching their faces for some logical reason for their lengthy excursion to the city.

"I do wish you wouldn't have planned to stay so long, you'll practically be ready to deliver before you return. Suppose something should go wrong….."

Cora stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"It will be fine, they have doctors and hospitals closer there than here. You'll be so busy with the new estate manager, you'll hardly even notice I'm gone."

Robert opened his mouth for one final declaration of opposition but sighed heavily and turned to enclose himself in the library. He closed the door with an emphatic slam and Cora winced before rearranging her face in its usual serene disposition. She patted Rosamund on the arm.

"He will get over it, a little space right now is best for us anyway. Once the baby comes," she snuck a knowing look at Rosamund's straining belt buckle, "I know it will be just like after Mary came along, we just need to get by til then," she said and Rosamund wasn't sure who Cora had been trying to convince more, her expectant sister-in-law or herself.

They loaded up the carriages and climbed in, Elsie hovering behind Rosamund like a watchful hawk prepared to swoop in to catch her at the slightest misstep. As the driver cracked his reins, the carriage crunched its way through the layer of fresh snow on the path and Rosamund cast one final beseeching look at the vacant hollow at the end of the gate. She wasn't sure what she was hoping to see, the mason jar peeking from behind the post, large footsteps trailing back to the stone temple, a tall figure leaping from behind a bush to stop her before it was too late. Yet there was nothing but mounds of undisturbed white, its pristine blankness a cruel punctuation to the end of her foolish dreams of true love conquering all.

Chapter 12

The sound of champagne glasses chimed throughout the hotel ballroom like hundreds of tiny bells, all ringing in celebration of the imminent arrival of the year 1892. Rosamund fell into a corner booth before her swollen ankles could collapse beneath the strain of carrying her additional weight. Her corsets were now stretched to their maximum capacity and Elsie was starting to joke about qualifying as the strong man at the next world's fair with the training she was receiving through their grand deception. Rosamund knew that it wouldn't be long before it would be simply impossible to hide the massive protrusion that sprung forth at the removal of its cage every evening like water spurting from a burst dam. So, tonight she was determined to eat and dance and laugh enough to last her for the next two months and Marmaduke Paineswick was proving the ideal companion for that venture. He gamely took her arm for every waltz the orchestra played, despite having warned her prior to the night's gaiety of possessing "two left feet." The glittering ballroom was filled floor to ceiling with balconies of beautiful women in silks and satins of every color of the rainbow but his attention was focused solely on her the entire night. He left her side only to bring her caviar atop luscious salmon mousse, bubbling champagne and tiny cakes frosted with sparkling sugar spun flowers. As the last few hours of 1891 dwindled away with the last notes of Offenbach's newest gavotte, Marmaduke slid next to Rosamund's beached form on the smooth leather seat.

"My word, have you ever felt leather this soft?" He proclaimed, running his hand along the back of the seat. "It must be softer than a baby's bottom, d'you think your brother would let us borrow baby Mary for a blind comparison?"

Rosamund giggled. His sense of humor was so different than Freddie's but no less entertaining. While Freddie's clowning uninhibited antics in the woods had left her rollicking in peals of laughter until she could hardly breathe, Marmaduke had an understated wit that took her by surprise. He was soft spoken and serious but would interject a sly aside or jest into his conversation that took a beat to sink in then but once it did she found herself laughing heartily alongside him. He spoke modestly of his work with his father but reading between the lines of his modesty, it became clear that he was both enormously intelligent and hard working.

"So, you said you're going to the States next month for work? Have you ever been there before?" She questioned as she draped the rich turquoise shawl over her stomach, a practice which, by this time, had become pure habit.

"I haven't and although I do love to travel, I have to admit that I'm not especially keen on this particular trip. It's going to be all work and really very little time to sight see and I was so hoping to take some time and go walking through the lakes in the northern region of the state. It's getting quite a reputation for some upcoming vineyards and I wanted to learn more about the process," he sighed with regret.

"Are you going into the wine business now?" she asked.

The question prompted him to take a sip of the dancing Dom Perignon in front of him and he shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Maybe someday, although right now the business has me too busy to pursue anything else. I truly never imagined we'd be as busy as we are, not to sound ungrateful," he added with a humble blush lighting his high cheekbones. "You see, my father has started several businesses over the years but none of them ever quite took off, for lots of different reasons. We didn't have much money when I was growing up and after my mother got sick, I thought I might go to medical school. I've always enjoyed science and the study of anatomy. When I was sixteen, though, my father came up with this idea of automating a part of the machinery to make these metal pieces that go into the train-well, I won't bore you with the details but it's essential to making the engines run. I helped him fine tune the engineering aspect of it and the rest is history."

Rosamund could see him as a teenager, sitting next to his father and tinkering with the mechanics by candlelight into the wee hours of the night.

"You must make a good team," she remarked noting the fondness apparent in his voice.

"We do, although it's probably because we're so different. My father is a dreamer, he has these big ideas that he's sure will be successful, even if no one else believes it. I'm more of a practical, let's see how we can make these big ideas really work and make a living for us, kind of fellow and I can rein him in when he starts to get distracted by his next big idea. After my mother died, he drifted through life for a few years and I was the only thing that kept him from completely going overboard. My mother was the love of his life, he was completely mad for her."

Marmaduke stopped to clear his throat, a sheen covering his eyes that he quickly blinked away before continuing onwards.

"I'm lucky, in a way, though, to have been able to see them together and be old enough to remember what their relationship was like. So many of my school chums, their parents could barely stand to be in a room together and my parents could barely stand to be apart. Whenever my mother walked into a room, my father's face lit up and if they were sitting together, they were holding hands or in each other's arms. As a young lad, of course, I found it just awful, like enough already, but now I know that's what I'm looking for in a marriage. I want a real partner, someone to travel with and sit in quiet comfort with, someone I can take care of not because she needs me to but because I can't help but do otherwise. I don't want just a marriage for titles or money or status, when I marry, I want it to be because I've found the person I can't stand to be without."

Rosamund felt her cheeks flaming as his eyes found hers. Her words faltering, she fiddled self-consciously with the peacock feathers adorning the neckline of her gown.

"It's good that you know what you want, I'm sure you'll find the girl who makes your face light up too," she stammered, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how closely situated his body was next to hers as a crush of people pushed onto the booth beside them.

Ignoring the crowd edging them nearly off their seats, Marmaduke gently placed his hand over hers and encased her fingers in his.

"What if I told you I already have?" He asked, leaning in to seek deeply into her eyes, his forehead nearly touching hers.

Rosamund looked down at their intertwined hands, the heat of the crowd gathering making it harder and harder to draw sufficient breath.

"I….I don't-" she started before the roar of the crowd beginning to chant the countdown mercifully rescuing her from the molten green gold penetration of his stare.

They broke apart to rise to their feet and cheer with the throngs clustering about the massive clock at the center of the lobby. As the last tick of the minute hand clicked to midnight, the orchestra struck up the classic "Auld Lang Syne," and the entire ballroom began to embrace simultaneously. Marmaduke took her hands in his and swept her cheek with a tender kiss that lingered just longer than could ever be mistaken as merely a gesture of friendship. He smelled sweet but masculine, like rich Arabian coffee dusted with cinnamon. Rosamund waited for the spark to shoot through her, the way it did the first time Freddie's lips touched her fingers but nothing came. She wanted desperately to be able to forget Freddie and the dizzy excitement she had felt whenever they were together but his long reach touched every corner of her mind, every aspect of her dreams. Here she was, standing next to a handsome, kind, attentive gentleman, yet all that crossed her mind as confetti streamed about them, was would this year be the first year of the rest of her life without the man she couldn't stand to be without?

Rosamund returned back to their townhome on St. James Square shortly after two in the morning. She crept through the front door, stepping cautiously around the center floorboard whose creak she knew could be heard in the upper chambers where Cora must be sleeping. Tiptoeing into the drawing room where she could see the light of the fireplace, Rosamund jumped when she saw Cora's white clad frame reposed on the chaise like a beautiful ghost.

"You frightened me half to death!" Rosamund exclaimed, clasping her chest and heaving a dramatic gasp. "What are you still doing up, it's so awfully late!"

Cora yawned and arched her back in a luxurious stretch.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, there are a lot of crazy people out there."

She patted the seat next to her and gathered up the soft woolen blanket to spread over Rosamund as she collapsed gratefully next to her sister-in-law. Rosamund tugged her shoes that had become adhered to her almost unrecognizably large feet and a noise that sounded eerily like one of the seals flopping around the cliffs of Dover emitted from her as the heels clattered onto the floor.

"Did you have fun?" Cora smiled at Rosamund wiggling her numb toes back to the tingles of life in front of the blazing hearth.

"I did, the Ritz was amazing, I've never eaten so much in my life. Marmaduke kept plying me with treats all evening, when we weren't up dancing he was fetching me some new goody to try, I don't even know where he was getting them from!"

Rosamund chuckled at the memory of him slipping in between the duchesses and lords with crab puffs in each hand.

Cora made a nurturing murmur of teasing discovery.

"I think you're starting to like this Mr. Paineswick, a bit aren't you?"

Rosamund blushed and removed her glove to swat Cora playfully with it. "We're just friends, although he did suggest that he might be interested in being more, but…..but I'm just not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready for anyone else." She banished the torturous mental image of Freddie placing a simple gold band on the silhouette of the village girl Rosamuns still couldn't bear to visualize. "It's just nice to have someone to do things with as a distraction and Marmaduke's such a sweet chap. He's already promised to take me to an art gallery on Sunday, the opera on Wednesday night then we're going walking through Hyde Park the next Saturday. I do believe I'll need to get some new shoes before then, my feet have grown ever so much wider since….since," Rosamund failed to finish the sentence, looking down at her round belly that had bulged with such insistence when she sat down that her corset was now bunched up over her chest and the seams of her dress were screaming for aid.

The radiant blue of Cora's eyes followed Rosamund's gaze. She placed a tentative hand on the swelling mound before asking, "how are you doing with all…..this?"

It was the first time the two women had been completely alone together since finalizing their secretive accord. Rosamund wasn't sure what the protocol for their relationship was at this point so she chose her words with guarded truthfulness.

"The truth is, I've been trying really hard just not to think about what's actually happening inside me. It's funny, I always assumed that one day I would have children but it seemed like such a far away, abstract concept. I've never been around them, since I was one at least, I don't even really know if I like children. It just seems like another thing that everyone tells me that I'm supposed to do but," Rosamund took a deep breath before admitting something to Cora that she had never imagined saying out loud. "Whenever I picture my future, the things that I would do if I could choose whatever I wanted to do, being a mother never enters the picture. Does that make me a horribly selfish person?"

Although Cora's dark eyebrows shot up in surprise at Rosamund's confession, she responded vehemently, "Absolutely not. I think the more selfish choice would be to have children despite not really wanting them. Being a mother is all consuming, you can never anticipate how it will fill every fiber of your being with love and worry and fear and guilt. You have this new life that you would give anything for, yet that attachment comes with the constant doubt that you're not good enough for the job. At least that's how it is for me," she concluded as she gently rubbed Rosamund's belly causing her to lean back against soft pillowed arm of the sofa in contented repose.

The difference between Cora's approach to motherhood and Rosamund's own model of maternity was strikingly divergent. Lady Violet had doled out approval and affection as rewards for traits and behavior which she deemed worthy, in sharp contrast to Cora's unconditional surrender of self to the devotion of her child. Rosamund hadn't the slightest idea what kind of mother she might be when her time came, whenever she tried to imagine herself with a child, she found it impossible. She had always assumed that when she met the right man, the urge to settle down and bear his children would present itself but as she felt the fluttering butterfly movements of the child brought forth by the great passion of her dreams, she still felt a detachment from the experience of motherhood.

Cora gasped with delight.

"I thought I felt it move, can you feel anything yet?"

Rosamund had felt similar almost imperceptible waves of movement starting a few weeks ago but was unsure whether they belonged to the baby or her perpetually disgruntled gastrointestinal system which did not take kindly to the parasite growing atop it.

"I think so but I wasn't sure. You've been pregnant before, is that what it feels like? Like something flapping its wings against your stomach?"

Cora smiled wistfully.

"Yes, that's exactly it, at first. The movements will grow stronger as the baby gets bigger. Soon you will be able to feel it kicking and stretching, eventually you will be able to make out the arms or the backside against your belly. I remember how every time I laid down, little Mary would push her feet against my navel and I could feel the imprint of her tiny heel. It was the most magical experience, I thrilled every time," she reminisced with the sadness of a season of life ended all too abruptly.

Rosamund reclined back farther and the flutter quickened again. She grabbed Cora's wrist and placed her palm directly over the spot where she had first noticed the movement. They both sat perfectly still as the mother touched her child for the first time.

Marmaduke proved to be a more than capable source of diversion for the next two weeks as he squired Rosamund all around London. While his manners were never anything more than chivalrous gentility, she detected a burgeoning intensity in his eyes that followed her every move. Each time their eyes locked, over dusty volumes in the National Library, between steaming sips of tea at Claridge's, sharing opera glasses at Covent Garden, Rosamund prayed to feel something akin to the electricity that she still felt with just the memory of Freddie's horizon like stare, but that jolt remained elusive. She wondered what could possibly be the matter with her that she could be so hopelessly fixated on a man who so clearly had left her in the dust of summer's last heat wave, when such a wonderfully available man was standing right before her.

Rosamund decided that it would be best to break things off with Marmaduke. It seemed cruel to lead him on into thinking there could ever be more between them than a jolly friendship and multiple streams of interests and hobbies in common. He was taking her for a stroll through Hyde Park that afternoon and she chose her simplest grey riding suit with a high collar and a fur lined hooded cape that covered her body. The high peplum cut of the suit and the voluminous purple velvet cloak neatly disguised the otherwise unmistakable bloom of a nearly full-term pregnancy and she waddled down the steps at the footman's call.

Marmaduke stood at the front door of the townhouse, a bouquet of white lilies in his hands. He doffed his cap jauntily and bowed, his face tipped upwards so as to not miss a moment of their meeting. She sniffed the heady perfume of the immense garland before handing it to the footman and taking Marmaduke's hand. The carriage ride was short and neither party said much to one another, exchanging shy smiles as they rode along. When the carriage stopped, Rosamund looked out the window and was surprised that they hadn't stopped at the large statues standing sentry at the entrance to London's largest park. They had stopped, instead at the Royal Albert Concert Hall and Rosamund looked to Marmaduke in wonderment.

"What are we doing here, I thought we were going to the park," she exclaimed in a puzzled voice.

He winked at her and replied, "Change of plans, there is something else I had in mind."

He whisked her out of the carriage before taking a curiously oblong bag from the driver. He then led Rosamund past the grand formal entrance and instead took her through a side door to the left. She was thoroughly confused and turned around at this point but his warm hand on her elbow lent a confident security in even the most unfamiliar surroundings. He opened a door to a small dark wood paneled room which contained stacks of sheet music and a black baby grand piano that had been polished to a mirror like shine.

Rosamund lifted her hood from her head and put her hands on her hips.

"This is quite, erm, cozy but I still don't understand what's going on."

He placed the mysterious package down carefully and sat down at the bench in front of the piano. He patted the spot next to him with an enigmatic grin and she sat at his side like an obedient pupil. He placed his hands on the keys, closed his eyes and then at once soft lyrical trills rose from his fingers skimming lightly across the notes. Rosamund sat in silent amazement as he played from memory one of the most beautiful and complex tunes she had ever heard. When his hypnotically dancing fingers slowed to a final light pressure on the glimmering ivory, she clutched his arm with genuine delight.

"You, sly weasel, why didn't you tell me you played so beautifully? You could be performing on stage with the national orchestra and you didn't even need to look at the notes, I can't believe it!"

He ducked his head with humility and picked an intricate version of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" before bending over to retrieve a bottle of white wine and two glasses from the package on the floor. He poured a small bit in each glass and handed one to her then spun around on the bench so that his left elbow was just ever so lightly brushing against her own.

"My mother taught me how to play," he said heavily. "I stopped for a few years after she passed, then my Father encouraged me to pick it up again. He told me," Marmduke let out a chuckle, "he told me that music was how he won my mother. He would sing along to anything she played and she fell in love with his voice, which in case you're wondering, I did not inherit. My musical talent is relegated to piano only. I've never found it to be a successful tool in wooing women, after all, it's rather difficult to tote a baby grand with you to social gatherings but…." He stopped to stroke Rosamund's cheek lightly with his right hand. "I always had a feeling it would come in handy if I ever met the right girl."

He leaned in towards her and their lips touched as softly as a whisper at first, then again with increasing fervor. His hand left her cheek to graze down her left arm and down to grip her hand with a strength that defied his slight frame. Finally, Rosamund noticed an alteration in her reaction to his touch. It wasn't the deafening explosions she had felt with her first kiss from Freddie but rather a slow spreading of warmth as one feels slipping gradually into a bath tub of hot water until completely submerged. Excitement was replaced with a languid comfort that she instantly missed when they finally pulled their faces apart and stared breathlessly at one another.

Marmaduke shook his head. "I know I shouldn't have done that but I have to say I'm not sorry for kissing you. No matter what happens, I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. I am sorry I broke my promise, though."

The warm daze that had enveloped Rosamund began to fall from her eyes.

"What promise is that exactly?"

He stroked her hand which was still clasped in his.

"When we first met, I promised not to fall in love with you and I legitimately meant it. Rosamund, you are such an amazing person but I know that you can never marry me and I hadn't intended on setting myself up for having my heart broken."

Rosamund felt more perplexed than ever.

"What do you mean, we could never be married? Not that I'm thinking anything of the sort, mind you," she said, pretending to scold him with a wag of her finger.

He took a deep breath.

"There is something that I have to tell you, that I've been dreading having to tell any woman but I knew the time would come eventually. When I was thirteen, my father and I went for a trip to the countryside to try to get back on our feet and move on from our grief. We went riding and the horse I was on was spooked by a train whistle. He reared and threw me off, then trampled me as he ran. I broke several ribs and there was an injury somewhere…..private," he confided, his olive skin burnishing to a deep rust. "The fact of the matter is, I can't ever bear children. I had always hoped to fall in love and marry but my plan was to wait until I was of an age that I could find a woman who was past childbearing age herself, then it wouldn't matter so much. It's partly why I've buried myself in work, as a protection from the possibility of falling in love right now. Then you came along….and I've never met anyone like you. I could never ask you to give up having children and a family, and I know how important the legacy of Downton is to all of you. I couldn't possibly ask you to put that at risk, I…..I love you too much to do that to you."

He released her hand to take a sip of the wine that was sitting untouched on the piano bench. Rosamund could only blink in astonishment. Marmaduke's stunning revelation was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. She was moved by his thoughtfulness in considering her aspirations and plans before his own, although his startling confession of love left her in search of the true nature of her own conflicted feelings towards him.

"Marmaduke, I….I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry about your accident. That must have been dreadful for you, especially so soon after your mother died. You're sure the damage was….permanent?" Rosamund deliberately chose to avoid the topic of his amorous profession.

Marmaduke nodded remorsefully.

"I'm afraid so, the doctor was quite certain. At the time, it didn't seem like such a tremendous loss, being a typical thirteen-year old boy, having a family of my own was less of a concern than being able to join my school's cricket team next season. As I got older, however, I realized the impact my handicap would have on my ability to find a wife. I made my own peace with the circumstances, I don't believe in spending time worrying over things we can't control and I decided that I had been given an opportunity to spend my financial and emotional resources on those who had fallen on hard times, children from families who truly need assistance and affection. Then when the time was right, I could find my soulmate and we could spend our lives in grand adventures, travelling the world and maybe even changing it for the better together. Only recently have I realized, that for a number of reasons, my plan might have more than a few flaws, chief of which being most women aren't going to want that kind of life. Most women want to be mothers and spend their days taking care of their children," he lamented, then added with a wry grin, "or at least spend their days supervising the nannies taking care of their children as I have often observed is the tradition for the elite set these days. At any rate, I fear I might end up one of those dreadfully tedious blokes who are married to their careers. What woman is going to marry a short, dull businessman who can't even give her a child? Certainly not a gorgeous young earl's daughter who could have her pick of any young stud she wanted," he said, looking Rosamund straight in the eyes with both longing and acceptance.

Rosamund looked down into the crimson liquid floating in her untouched glass and sighed ruefully.

"Believe it or not, I'm not exactly the most eligible lady of the hour. There are things I haven't told you either, things about my family that have rendered my choices of potential husbands to a woefully non-discriminating few. I don't know if you have heard any of the stories, I hadn't heard them until just last year, about what happened to my parents on a trip to Russia-"

Marmaduke cut her off.

"The thing with your mother and the Russian prince? There were rumors floating around, but those things are usually pure nonsense with a meager grain of truth at its core. At any rate, so what? Any man who gets to know you for who you are, your cleverness, your appreciation of beautiful things, your passionate response when you see injustice, he couldn't possibly let some decades old scandal stop him from proudly shouting to the rooftops how much he….how much I adore you."

Rosamund remembered how Freddie had made almost the exact same speech before they kissed for the first time, yet the things he had praised were her physical attributes, while Marmaduke had somehow singled out unique parts of her character that even she wouldn't have recognized in herself. Qualities her mother had spent years berating her over, how she read too much, how she stopped to admire every flower and sparkling rock, how she couldn't help her anger when the world just wasn't fair, those traits were the very things he was saying he adored. Rosamund couldn't believe she had met a man who loved her for exactly who she was, a man who dreamed of the same life as her, at the absolute worst possible moment. As if to remind her precisely why the timing could not have been more impractical, a small foot lodged itself under her ribcage and proceeded to perform a miniature version of the can-can dance she had once seen from a restaurant window in Paris. She tightened her lips together to keep from crying out, an expression which Marmaduke mistook for reservation about his feelings for her.

"Dear me, it is getting late, isn't it? You must be exhausted and I've bored you to tears with my pitiful tale of woe. Here, let me take your glass and we'll get out of here, the concertmaster here is an old friend of mine but he said not to tarry too long or he would recruit me for tonight's performance."

Marmaduke started to reach for her glass but Rosamund caught his hand in hers. She knew it wasn't the right time to return his love wholeheartedly, the taste of the word still rested bitterly on her tongue from the last time she had said it and her world broke apart. Still, she was more drawn to Marmaduke than ever before and a rush of affection propelled her to softly brush his lips with hers one more time in a small token of the best hope she could offer him. His countenance shifted from resignation to near jubilance. His fingers linked with hers and they stayed intertwined until she spied the lamplight of the townhouse glowing in the street before them.

Chapter 13

Two more weeks passed and Rosamund was torn between missing Marmaduke's genial company and relief that she didn't have to lie to him about the reason for her reclusive convalescence just as the first drips of water were receding from the icicles dangling below the city rooftops. Elsie packed away the last of her thoroughly worn corsets with relish and Rosamund's splendidly convex midsection was on full display. She spent most of her days trying in vain to ease the nagging discomfort in her lower back, wedging pillows between every joint in her unrecognizable body. Cora served as nursemaid and librarian, sending the Elsie to the kitchen for steaming draughts of tea and chocolate covered biscuits and scaling the bookshelves herself with a precariously squeaky footstool to find any novel Rosamund had yet to devour. Rosamund found the nurturing she had never received from her own mother so soothing, she would almost have wished the pregnancy wasn't reaching its final days, except for the complete inability to sleep through an entire night without wee fists using her bladder as a boxer's punching bag.

Late one evening, Rosamund was just closing up her book and about to trundle up the stairs for another fitful night of wrestling multiple pillows into something approximating comfort, when she felt a slight twinge in her lower back. At this juncture, she couldn't remember the last time she had been able to move without something hurting but this was different. The zapping sensation departed as rapidly as it had begun and Rosamund resumed her trek up the darkened staircase. Just as she was leaning forward to blow out the candle at her bedside, it happened again. Rosamund rolled onto her left side and tried to concentrate on the few remaining body parts that didn't hurt but the shooting pain returned fifteen minutes later and she was beginning to wonder if this was something other than average pregnancy related spasm.

It appeared that she wasn't going to be getting any sleep that night anyway, so Rosamund threw a silken dressing gown over her blousy linen shift and rang the bell for Elsie. The maid appeared, her thick brown waves flowing softly down her back with the shine of a freshly minted coin. Rosamund couldn't remember ever having seen Elsie's hair down and her envy caused her to temporarily forget the reason for her summons. Then another tingling whiplash of pain shot through her back and around her belly like an electrified girdle. The increased intensity stole her voice and she waited for the feeling to disperse before speaking.

"Elsie, I'm so sorry to disturb you, would it be possible for you to fetch me a glass of warm milk? I'm having a devil of a time getting into a position where I can get any rest at all tonight."

Elsie rubbed the remnants of sound sleep from her bleary eyes and asked through a yawn, "of course, dearie, are you sure that's all you need?"

Rosamund sighed and rubbed the small of her back which seemed to be the source of the trouble.

"I'm sure it's nothing but I keep getting these pains in my lower back, almost every quarter of an hour like clockwork. They last for a few seconds than go away but I just can't seem to relax," she lamented as she plopped back onto the side of the bed, already exhausted from the energy expended by standing up.

A knowing alarm forced Elsie's eyes back into their typical waking circumference and she crossed the room with a few quick steps.

She placed her hands just beneath Rosamund's belly and paused silently for a few minutes before Rosamund inhaled sharply when the cramping feeling gripped her again. A delirious smile spread across her round face as she informed her naïve employer, "my dear, that's not just regular pains. You're in labor, the baby is coming!"

Despite all of Rosamund's efforts to distract herself from the inevitable, the forces of nature and life finally refused to be demurred and she was confronted with the life-altering gravity of giving birth. She had thought when the time came she would feel something, excitement, fear, nervousness but instead she was filled with the same calm void she had felt before her presentation another lifetime ago. She remembered Marmaduke's strategy of not worrying about things she couldn't control and wondered if maybe they were cut from more of the same cloth than she could have ever guessed. Maybe all the anxiety and stress that would previously churn her heart and stomach into fits was the result of listening to others rather than utilizing her innate default method of coping. Her analytical breakthrough was interrupted by the strength of the next onslaught of stronger contractions and she doubled over in misery.

Elsie snapped immediately into militaristic readiness and in a deft flash the desired tresses were caught up in her cap and her face shone with eagerness to be of assistance.

"Right then, I'm sending the footmen with a telegram to Dr. Clarkson, he should be able to make it here in the next few hours. I think we can anticipate the process taking some time, the first one always does. Then I'll get some water boiling in the kitchen and gather up all the clean linens. Shall we wake your sister or let her sleep a bit?"

Completely incapacitated by the seizing paroxysm wracking her torso, Rosamund simply shook her head and Elsie interpreted the meaning with her usual intuition.

"You're right, best let her be for now, she'll not be sleeping soon enough with the care of a new wee one. As for you, best thing you can do right now is walk. I've assisted a few midwives here and there and they all say the same thing, walk while you can and the movement will get things going. You don't want the baby to stall or get stuck-"

The widening of Rosamund's eyes in fresh agony clued Elsie in to the fact that she had perhaps said too much and she raced down the stairs to send for the doctor. Rosamund groaned as she eased herself back into an upright stance and wearily began to pace around the small room. She wished she had at least tried to take a rest that afternoon but had become engrossed in a volume of Lord Byron's poetry to close her eyes. Now she tried to concentrate on remembering the prose she had read only hours ago, conjuring Freddie's mellifluous voice in her head to keep her mind off the searing torment that was only just beginning.

"So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent."

The tumultuous night wore on and Dr. Clarkson arrived with the first peek of the morning sun. Rosamund had spent the darkness marching across the soft carpet, turning when her toes hit the freezing cold floorboards. The contractions inched closer together, their paralyzing strength increasing in opposition to their diminishing time apart. She lay down on the freshly warmed sheets Elsie had placed on the bed and closed her eyes as the convulsive torture ebbed for a brief reprieve. As the doctor gently placed his hands inside to feel the baby, her lower half felt as though it was about to be wrenched from her spine and she cried out in distress. A sudden pop provided an abatement of the affliction then a rush of fluid escaped from her in a single great torrent.

Dr. Clarkson stood and covered Rosamund's exposed posterior with a blanket before turning to Elsie and Cora, who had awoken with the doctor's knock at the door.

"Everything seems to be progressing well at this point. Clearly, her waters have broken so it should not be much longer. The baby is head down and nearing the transition phase."

He then knelt by Rosamund and dipped a cloth in a pitcher of cold water to wipe across her sweat soaked forehead.

"You're doing wonderfully, I know the pain seems unbearable but it will all be over soon and then…." Dr. Clarkson stood and stroked his beard regretfully. His standard promise of a soft healthy baby to hold would serve only as a cruel taunt in this particular situation. His logical mind fought to pursue an alternate path to guide his young patient along.

"You are going through the most unspeakable physical torture any human being can experience and you are doing it in service of your family. If you were my daughter or my sister, I would sing your praises for the rest of my days in honor of the sacrifice you are making today. This is your battleground and you will emerge from it, forever scarred, but triumphant in your cause. We are all here together for you, Lady Rosamund, you can do this and you shall."

"Rosamund?"

A new but not unknown voice broke off the kind doctor's exhortation and Rosamund shut her eyes tightly in an altogether different sort of discomfiture as her brother stood horrified in the doorway.

"What in God's name is going on here? Cora, please tell me I'm going mad and I'm not seeing my little sister having a baby instead of you," he exploded, the veins in his regal forehead thrusting themselves into rage induced prominence.

Cora approached her husband with the wary calm of a snake handler coaxing a hissing cobra back in its basket.

"Yes, Robert, this is the truth. Rosamund is the one who is pregnant, not I. I was pregnant but miscarried and she came upon Dr. Clarkson telling me that neither I or a child would survive another pregnancy. Rosamund had found herself with child through circumstances which are none of your business at the present time and offered her baby to me so that we could raise it as our own. I accepted and nothing you can say or do will cause me to go back on my word. I am sorry that I lied to you but I will love and protect this child with every fiber of my being and so help me, if you are not prepared to do the same, I will raise both of these children without you."

Rosamund had never seen her brother more visibly unhinged but a vicious attack from within stilled any possible effort she could have manifested to justify their charade. Robert's face turned magenta as he surveyed the company of betrayers in the room then clenched his fists before storming down the stairs to slam the front door shut behind him. Cora's warrior like façade caved with his exit and she fell to the floor in hysterics. Elsie and Dr. Clarkson exchanged looks of uncertain embarrassment before resuming the business of safely bringing life into the world.

Rosamund curled on her side and clutched the sheets as miserable whimpers slipped from a primordial place deep within her. The contractions clenched her entire abdomen like an invisible unrelenting vise. Cora rose from the depths of her sorrow to rush to Rosamund's side. She offered her hand to Rosamund and the women clung to one another as the unyielding bond of shared heartbreak cemented their sisterhood. At last a leaden pressure began to build in the lowest corner of Rosamund's body and Dr. Clarkson obliged her with permission to push through the final stages of her martyred labor. She strained against the incomparable exhaustion that had stealthily crawled its way through her limbs and into the last vestiges of her will to stay alert. The urge to surrender to the tranquilizing darkness nearly overpowered her but the inferno ripping her in two fueled her resolve to complete her mission. She harnessed every ounce of strength left in her drained reserves to push one final time and an immediate emptiness doused the untenable conflagration. The tiny wails of an alien creature pierced the room and in Dr. Clarkson's hands, Rosamund could just make out a squirming mass of blood soaked infant.

"It's a girl," the doctor announced joyfully before completing a survey of the faces crowded around him to verify the appropriate level of enthusiasm to display. Elsie took the child and wrapped her in clean clothes, expertly scrubbing the mucus and vernix from the face that was still maroon from its transition to the outside world. Swaddling the flailing arms and legs neatly, she went to introduce the child to its mother and froze. Rosamund, gulping air into her depleted lungs, understood the question in her confidante's mournful eyes and nodded at Cora, who was still kneeling at her side with Rosamund's hand tightly fixed in her own. Elsie softly padded to her side and Cora took her eyes from Rosamund's face, speckled purple from the capillaries which had exploded from her efforts. The breath that she had been holding throughout the ordeal released in a single expulsion and she tenderly cradled the baby in experienced arms. An unguided tear tracked down her cheek and fell onto the distinctly red-gold fuzz topping the perfectly round head. Small dark eyes peered up into the crystal blue visage of her mother and then closed in contented slumber.

"She's perfect," Cora breathed as she swayed unconsciously like a ship at sea. Rosamund flinched as the doctor forcefully pushed on her belly to expel the last traces of that fateful midsummer night. Elsie cleared her throat and motioned to the door.

"All right, everyone, Lady Rosamund needs to rest, Dr. Clarkson, I shall be happy to attend to the clean up, I'm sure you have other patients waiting on you."

A wan voice piped up from the bed, "I-before you go-might I have a moment alone with my…my niece?" Rosamund scarcely had the strength left to hoist herself into a sitting position but a voice cried out from the vacant hollow that had just been carved out from inside her and she was powerless to ignore it.

Cora sucked in her breath like she had just been delivered a blow to the gut but walked cautiously to the bed. She leaned over to Rosamund and handed her the warm bundle with reverential lightness. She backed away to the door with wary steps, ready to rush back at the first sign of a change of heart but then disappeared into the hallway where Rosamund knew she would be waiting just outside. Dr. Clarkson's face could not hide his disapproval of the current course of events but Elsie took his elbow with commanding grace and escorted him out. She shot a heartbroken smile in Rosamund's direction before closing the door behind her.

Rosamund pulled the lace edged blanket below a small pointed chin to peer down at the creature curled up in peaceful repose on her lap. Rosy lips opened impossibly wide to yawn before closing to a perfect cupid's bow. Rosamund stroked a single finger along the round cheeks and marveled at a softness she could never have imagined any creature on heaven or earth possessing. The eyes were closed and the faintest gold lashes rested delicately on the skin that was already transforming from the blotchy darkness of birth to a pure creamy white. A mohawk of bright red hair streaked across the top of her head and Rosamund lifted it to her face to run the downy strands across her lips. Her heart burst with a love that was distinct from the love she had felt for Freddie, an encompassing love that was outside of even herself. It was an otherworldly attachment that hummed magically between her and the achingly beautiful baby who rested without awareness of the tragic joy her mere presence had wrought.

"My darling girl," Rosamund whispered into the miniature version of Freddie's ears flatly adhered to the side of her fragrant head. "You will never know how much I love you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I can't be your mother. I didn't know how badly I would want you until now but I just can't. Cora and Robert can give you everything I can't, both a mother and a father who love you, a stable home, a perfect future. The only thing I can give you is a name, a name that only I will know but a name that will be in my heart and in my prayers as long as I draw breath. The world will know you as Cora and Robert's daughter and will call you by the name they choose but to me," Rosamund exhaled raggedly and uttered a name that she knew she could never say out loud again. "To me, you will always be, Georgiana."

She kissed the upturned nose lightly, then looked up startled as the door opened with a creak. To her great surprise, it was Robert who entered the room, a look of befuddlement and shame stretched across his distinguished features.

"May I come in?" He asked nervously, staring at the bottom of the jacket he was twisting in hands that no longer seemed sure of what to do with themselves.

Rosamund nodded her acquiescence and he started towards the bed, then retreated and sat in a wooden chair at its foot. Robert quieted his hands in his lap, then looked up into Rosamund's face, the image of repentance.

"I have apologized to Cora for my behavior and she has forgiven my outburst, understandable though it may have been," he remarked, his eyebrows shooting upwards in fatherly consternation. "I understand why you could not tell me, although I wish more than anything that you had never been in the position of having to lie to everyone in the first place. I don't need to know anything more about how it happened or with whom. I place the blame largely on myself. It was my job to protect you, to make sure that something like this never happened and I failed you." He glanced out the porthole shaped window, blinking back tears of regret. "I promised Father I would look after you and I failed you both. Can you ever forgive me?"

Rosamund was stunned at his self-reproach lain bare before her. Each time he had scolded and redressed her, she had assumed his attitude towards her stemmed from the same frustration her mother demonstrated over the irrepressible shortcomings she had displayed. It had never dawned on her that he could have been motivated by the fear that he was inadequate for the task laid before him of guiding her safely into adulthood.

"Robert, you haven't failed me, you haven't failed anyone. I made a poor choice and had to deal with the ramifications. While I can't say that I wouldn't take it back if I could, we can't look backwards, we can only move forwards. It was never your job to protect me from the world, to save me from anything bad ever happening to me…..but now I'm asking you to make it your job to protect her, to love her. Will you do that for me?" Rosamund implored, turning the baby slightly so he could see her.

The set of Robert's face melted and he softly gathered the baby to his chest. Bouncing up and down ever so slightly, he craned his neck downwards to touch his forehead to his child's. Although Rosamund's lap felt suddenly cold and bereft of the solid warmth it had just embraced, a serene relief engulfed her sense and she laid back against the pillows as sleep deprivation sunk heavily into her bones. Just as her eyes were closing, she saw Cora creep into the room and join Robert in his devotion to their newest child. A bright shaft of mid-day sunlight suddenly illuminated dust particles swirling about them, the blessing of thousands of miniscule fairies on the newly formed family. Rosamund rolled on her side, and let the silent sobs carry her away into a vacuous sleep.

Chapter 14

Within the space of a week, the entire family resumed the work of daily life at Downton Abbey as though nothing had changed. Baby Edith, as she was called, was welcomed joyously by everyone except for little Mary, who attempted to pinch the new baby's nose off and sniffed with the haughty disdain only a toddler can muster when she discovered her new toy did not come with removable parts. A protective surge of defensiveness reared up within Rosamund and she folded her arms across her waist to prevent herself from snatching the baby away from the jam stained reach of her big sister. Most of the family had been born with red hair which eventually darkened to a rich cherry wood hue, so the baby's flaming shock of hair was not a source of suspicion to anyone. Her eyebrows, however, began to take on the characteristic expression of their paternity, so the quick-thinking Cora proclaimed loudly at the christening how great the resemblance was to her own father's distinctive crown. Although the Dowager Countess greeted the new baby with as much grandmotherly warmth as her dignified personage would allow, the disappointment in a repeating female specimen only caused her to double down on her efforts to see Rosamund married off and quickly.

During yet another luncheon where Rosamund expected her mother to use her soup spoon as an auctioneer's gavel and start accepting bids at a pace of incomprehensible rapidity, her head began to spin from the constant background noise of crowds of people talking about her and over her but never to her. She slipped away to the upstairs rooms, certain that no one would even miss the supposed reason for their calling. Hearing plaintive cries coming from the nursery, she wandered down the corridor to investigate. Both babies appeared to be engaged in a contest to see who could scream the paper off the walls and a stalemate seemed unlikely within the near future. The new nanny went back and forth between the cribs, a look of dazed panic on her young face.

Rosamund knocked softly and called, "it's Lady Rosamund, might I be of some assistance?"

Nanny Sarah jumped at the sound of a voice that wasn't screaming ceaselessly in her face and rubbed her forehead.

"Well, it's not that I can't handle them, mind you, but if you would like to visit little Miss Edith for a while, I suppose that would be all right. I usually give Miss Mary a little tea time snack about now but the new baby needs a nap and I'm only one person, you know…."

As she spoke, she scooped up Edith, whose skin tone was a perfect match for her hair at present and transferred her to Rosamund's arms with the expedience of a kitchen maid dropping a scorching hot plate. She then whisked the infuriated Mary out of her bed and fled before Rosamund could change her mind. Edith dropped her silky head on Rosamund's shoulder but persisted in screaming the short high-pitched mews of a new human being who has now become too tired to sleep. Rosamund rubbed her muslin clad back and sat gently in the rocking chair by the window. As she rocked with the shrieking baby, an alarming tightness filled her chest and her breasts, which had been mildly swollen since giving birth, hardened suddenly and painfully to the texture of granite boulders. Rosamund let out a grunt of irritation and the baby, who had just started to doze off, jerked her entire body reflexively and opened enraged eyes to glare at the individual with the audacity to make noise while holding a drowsy baby. As she opened her mouth for another ear-splitting performance, she nuzzled her face against Rosamund's engorged bodice, soaked with the uninhibited flow of new milk.

Rosamund looked down at her body, aghast at its betrayal of confidence. She adjusted the baby against her and stood to check the door to ensure that it was closed and locked. She had no idea what she was doing but the biological need for release was too uncomfortable to bear any longer and she pulled down the neckline of her dress to liberate its exceptionally firm prisoner. She positioned the baby on its side and elevated its head so the rosebud mouth, which had already started making suckling noises, could attain its target. Milk began to spray from her with surprising force and Rosamund clamped the baby over her nipple, terrified someone would bang on the door and force their way in to check on the source of the noise. As if she had been nursing forever, Edith eagerly latched her mouth around the leaking faucet of manna and sucked hungrily. An exhilarating relaxation seeped into Rosamund's chest and she wiggled back into the chair to lean her head against the wooden rails. She rocked the chair slightly as her milk flowed into the baby and she placed a hand over the small belly to feel it grow with a satisfied fullness. As her glands drained one by one to a palliative emptiness, she detached the wee parasite and switched her quickly to relieve the unbearable tension of the other side. They sat, locked in mutual contentment until Edith drifted off to a coma of satiation, a trickle of milk still dripping from the corner of her lips which stayed parted as she slept. Rosamund sheathed herself back in the damp satin of her gown and shifted the baby's head to just over her heart so that she could touch her nose to the tuft of hair sprouting straight up. Fatigue draped over her like the black of a mourning veil but the warmth pressed against her chest and the inimitable smell of new baby in her nostrils was too intoxicating to give up and her eyes closed without permission. They rocked in blissful oblivion for over an hour before Nanny Sarah returned and declared Rosamund her new best friend.

Thus, began a new routine even more dangerous than her previous liasons with Freddie. Over the next several weeks, Rosamund would make her way to the nursery each day after teatime and before bed to encourage Sarah to take Mary for a snack or walk in the gardens. Nanny Sarah, worn thin from full time care of two extremely young children and grateful for the extra hands, never protested and commented on Rosamund's admirable devotion to her little niece.

"What a splendid mother you will make when your time comes," she would remark as she closed the door swiftly behind her.

Rosamund unbuttoned her top and efficiently attached the baby's gaping mouth around her the aching volume of her chest and pondered the nanny's unknowingly weighted words. While she had come to cherish this time that she and Edith spent together, a part of her felt that it would be sacrilege to attempt this experience again. The precious tie she felt to this creature who had once been a part of her was too painfully sacred to go through another time. As she cradled the snoring figure who reminded her more each day of the wide smile and laughing eyes she had fallen so madly in love with, she tried to imagine a time when holding a child of her own wouldn't be tinged with exquisite agony but the image simply would not come. She wondered if, like Marmaduke, she would have the courage to tell someone she cared for that children would not be part of the bargain with her. The thought of Marmaduke made her smile with recollection of his fingers interlinking with hers. He had sent her several letters during his time in the States, each one brimming with humorous anecdotes from his work sites and wishful preference to be at her side instead. He felt more present an ocean away than Freddie ever had from the next village over, yet Rosamund still felt tentative when expressing her affections to him in her responding letters. She wasn't sure whether it was the small reminder of her former paramour smiling sleepily up at her from the crook of her elbow or fear of opening herself up to another heartbreak after just barely withstanding the last one but something in her couldn't return his emotions with equal wholeheartedness. Her head began to droop towards her shoulder when a deep voiced exclamation of shock jolted her fully awake and terrified.

"What in the name of-Lady Rosamund?" Charlie Carson was standing at the partially opened door, his wide eyes beseeching her to provide a rational explanation for the sight before them. She disjointedly pulled the baby from her breast to recover herself and placed Edith in her crib before facing the butler with great reluctance. They stood wordless and Charlie brushed his hand through his hair, mimicking his brother's habitual gesture of affliction.

"It's his, isn't it?" Carson asked, already knowing the answer. "Miss Edith is my brother's and your child."

Rosamund's mouth went sandpaper dry and her lips cracked as she opened and closed them several times in succession before finally choosing her words with precise care.

"Yes, she is Freddie's and mine, but as far as the rest of the world knows, she is the daughter to Robert and Cora Crawley, my niece alone. We never meant for it to happen, but…but, anyway, how did you find out about me and Freddie?"

Carson shut the door completely behind him then turned his face towards Rosamund, sympathy and mortification casting their shadows on his typically implacable bearing.

"I found your letter, I didn't mean to," he explained apologetically. "It fell out of the lining when I picked it up and I remembered enough of my boyhood Latin to get the gist of it. Against my better judgement, I gave it to him anyway, assuming it was simply a harmless flirtation that would pass when you realized what different lives you both led. But then I saw you sneaking back in the house late one night in July and I knew that the only reason you could have been out at such an hour was to meet him and I feared these exact consequences. I didn't want to confront him, he has a tendency to get defiant when called out on impulsive decisions and I figured that would only cause the infatuation to hold fast. I knew that since he was going back to school that your contact would be limited and if you thought he was seeing another girl, you would be prompted to move on to a more suitable match, milady."

Rosamund felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"You made it up. You told Elsie that he was practically engaged to someone else but it wasn't true? You just told her that so she would encourage me to forget about him. Oh Carson, how could you?"

Carson's brows knit together in repentance and Rosamund instantly regretted her accusatory tone.

"I am truly sorry, milady. I was honestly thinking only of your future. My brother is not someone who can be relied upon when circumstances grow difficult. He may mature with time and trials but I still have yet to witness him being able to put someone else's needs above his own. I knew that neither of you would be able to end the relationship on your own, I….I understand more about the matters of the heart than you might believe."

A shade from the past danced across his memory, softening the hard indentations cut across his cheeks and he relegated it to the winds with a swipe of his hand across his eyes, then continued on with hesitance.

"Lady Rosamund, you owe me no explanation or details but I must ask you one thing. Does he know about the child? He is irresponsible but I will admit that callous neglect has never been in his nature. If he knew of your condition and abandoned you, so help me…"

Rosamund placed a steadying hand on Carson's arm.

"I appreciate your defense, but no, he never knew and he never will. Cora and I swore to one another that we would never tell another soul the truth about Edith's parentage, Robert found out and has agreed that she will be known to all as their child." She leaned over the crib to place her hand over the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping infant's belly. "Look at her, Carson, look at what an angel she is. She deserves the very best life can offer and you and I both know that an illegitimate birth will ruin any chance she has of real happiness. You must promise not to tell anyone what we have discussed today, not even Freddie. It's not fair to her or to him."

Carson stared at the baby as though seeing her for the first time. One side of his cheek spasmed, as if the smile of proud recognition was itching to escape.

"I promise, milady, I will take the secret to my grave and I understand your reasoning. But I would not be entirely honest with you if I didn't tell you that I think he should know the truth. It might be the thing that forces him to grow up at last. Besides that, a man should know he has a child out there in the world somewhere," he said solemnly and cast a long meaningful look into Rosamund's tear-filled eyes before returning to his duties downstairs.

Just then, Nanny Sarah breezed in the room, nodding gaily at Carson as they passed one another. She laid a sleeping Mary down in her crib and brushed her hands on her apron before gaping at Rosamund's ashen complexion.

"Milady, what's wrong? You look as if you've just seen a ghost," she exclaimed and she rushed downstairs to fetch the smelling salts.

The youthful nanny's hyperbolic expression didn't seem that far off to Rosamund, who felt very much like something had been resurrected from the land of the dead depicted in her father's countless collections of Egyptian hieroglyphics. Freddie wasn't engaged to someone else, which meant perhaps he was still in love with her after all. What if he thought she had abandoned him and thrown him off for someone with money or a title? She had buried the hope of ever seeing him again deep within herself, yet her cherished dream of a reunion furiously tunneled its way back up to the surface of her heart and slammed itself against the walls of her chest, refusing to be ignored any longer. Her first instinct was to run at full tilt out the door and catch the first train to London and burst into his dormitory at Oxford, never mind the prohibition of females in their hallowed halls, let them try and stop her. A small cooing from Edith's crib stopped her just as she touched the door knob. What could she possibly say to him after all this time? Even if he hadn't moved on last summer, that didn't mean that he hadn't met someone else in the meantime or even that he loved her at all, he had never said those words out loud to her when they were together. She let her hand drop from the door and saw that Edith's eyes had popped open and she was engrossed in a happy gurgling conversation with the baby hands waving in front of her face. Rosamund wiped a spit bubble from the chin glistening with a fresh coat of drool and pressed her hands together in prayerlike contemplation.

The reckless impulse that had stirred her to send a letter straight to his home last summer was now being silenced by a new rational thought process. She wondered whether the love that had overwhelmed her senses, the love that still resounded within her as she gazed down at his child, was it sufficient validation to derail his life with a reappearance into his world. She understood now, why he had balked at her insistent pressure for commitment, how foolish it had been for her to assume that their relationship could inexplicably rise above all the potential issues of a harsh world without having even tested out of the shadows of secrecy. His parting words to her had been excruciating but not necessarily without truth. She could no longer rely on the gods of love and destiny to grant her safe passage through the haphazard fog of her own life. It was time for her to make her own decisions about her future and the direction it would take. The plot of her story was up to her and her alone.

Chapter 15

Rosamund tempered her the romantic upheaval swelling in her heart for five more days, resolving that this time she would not leap head first into action, praying to land in the cushioned arms of her fantasies come to life. She had walked through fire and emerged unscathed over the last year but there was no guarantee that fortune would be on her side through another miscalculation. If she was to reinitiate contact with Freddie, it would begin with the premise of open honesty and the ability to ask one another for the commitment or space the other needed without the threat of their relationship ending at the first scrape of friction. To that end, Rosamund sat down in her room and put pen to paper to make a list of the qualities she sought from a real life romantic partner, not her unrealistic expectations of some unattainable heroic creation in her mind. She looked up and out her window, then scratched out the first few things that came to her mind.

-Intelligence

-Sense of humor

-Hard working

-Considerate to others

-Honest

-Dependable

-Kind

-Accepts me for who I am and loves me for it, flaws and all

-Wants the same things out of life as I do

Rosamund sat back against her chair and went over the list she had just detailed. Freddie fit quite neatly in several of the categories but when she thought of him with an objective view, there were glaring deficies she could not ignore. Could she depend on him when it really counted, would he be there when and if she needed him? Was he truly considerate of others even when it ran counter to his own needs or would he always put himself first? Did he truly love her, her tendency to shoot off at the mouth, her passionate nature that, more often than not, overruled her sense of logic? Did he even want the commitment and responsibility of marriage to anyone, let alone her? These were all questions she needed the answers to before she offered her heart to anyone again.

A quick knock sounded at the door and Elsie popped her head in at an angle.

"Pardon the intrusion, dearie, but you have a visitor."

Rosamund stepped lightly down the stairs, the knowledge that it couldn't possibly be Freddie at odds with the implausible anticipation of seeing his smile waiting for her, his arms reaching out to enfold her once again. When she saw Marmaduke Paineswick waiting for her instead, standing calmly with his hat in his hands, she was mostly surprised that her reaction was more joy than disappointment.

"Marmaduke, what a treat, I hadn't expected to see you back so soon!" Rosamund exclaimed as she reached both of her hands out to him. He took her hands in his and lifted them both to his lips.

"Lady Rosamund, the pleasure is entirely mine. The ship just arrived this morning and the first train I found magically brought me straight to you."

He wrapped her hand around her elbow and covered it with his other hand. She led him into the library and rang for tea for them both. After the steaming cups had been poured and the footman closed the door behind him, Marmaduke took a sip before anxiously setting his cup down on the table.

"I must confess, I cut my trip a bit short to return early. My father is still in the States, closing the last few details of our jobs but I couldn't help feeling the entire time I was away that there was something vital I had left here at home."

He took a deep breath then kneeled in front of the fireplace at her feet. Rosamund let out a gasp when he produced an exquisite ring from his pocket. A large oval sapphire of the most vivid blue she had ever seen sparkled up from among clusters of diamonds on each side arranged in a floral pattern. Her heart was beating so ferociously, she could barely concentrate on what he was saying as he spoke with genuine emotion pouring from each syllable.

"Dearest Rosamund, I thought that I had everything planned out, everything in my life under control. Then I met you and from that first moment at the dinner table when you finished your diatribe and your face turned bright red, everything in me belonged to you. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that you would never be interested in me or that I couldn't give you everything that you expect and deserve in life, it became ever so clear that there will never be anyone else for me. If your answer is no, I understand completely and I will remain your devoted friend for as long as you wish. But if your answer is yes, I promise that I will devote my life to you. You will never have reason to doubt my love and I will put forth every ounce of energy I have into making sure that all your dreams come true. Rosamund, my love, my heart, will you marry me?"

There were the words she had longed to hear her entire life, put forth by a man who offered himself to her without reservation or fear of the responsibility. Rosamund wanted desperately to accept without a second thought, but she remembered her epiphany in the nursery and altered her natural inclination to merely follow someone else's lead in the direction of her life.

"Marmaduke, I…I'm not saying no. But I need some time to be sure about my decision. I care for you, maybe even love you more than I had ever thought I could but when I choose the man I will spend the rest of my life with, I don't want to have any doubts about the reason for my decision. Can you give me time to think it over?" she asked, feeling a horrible stab of guilt at the crestfallen expression that took over his face.

He tucked the ring back in his pocket and looked down for several moments before meeting her eyes again.

"I will give you as much time as you need, my love. I can't say it's the answer I had hoped for but your honesty and thoughtfulness are two of the things I find most attractive about you. I will wait as long as I need to, but," he paused and bit his lower lip sheepishly, "please don't go and take too long. I shall scarcely be able to think of anything else until I hear your answer and I'm afraid of where Father might go with the business if I loosen his reins too much while I'm lovesick and distracted."

The peals of their joint laughter broke apart the uneasy tension that had frozen the room, which had been eerily quiet save for the sporadic pops and crackles emitted by the fireplace.

Relieved that he had not taken her hesitation as a rejection, Rosamund placed her hand over his and said, "now tell me all about your trip, was America the land of savages my mother has always made it out to be or is there hope for civilized life there yet?"

The pair talked until the last embers of the heart changed from glowing crimson to blackened coal and Rosamund saw him to his coach just as the last half of the sun was craning to peek above the treetops. Just before she turned to head back inside, something shiny winked back at the fading golden rays. The mason jar sat nestled in a bed of grass, a blush colored rose tucked inside.

It was an invitation that no amount of newly honed restraint could prompt her to decline and she flew past the garden to the stone temple where Freddie was standing, his eyes fixed on the blended horizon of new dusk. When he saw heard Rosamund's footsteps, he met her in just two buoyant steps.

"Rosamund, oh my darling, you came! You've made me so happy, I wasn't sure you if you ever cared to see me again after everything that happened. My brother wrote to me and told me what he did to us, lying about my seeing someone from the village. I've never been so furious in all my life, if I didn't still owe him for this past term, I'd never speak to him again," Freddie, grumbled, his face darkening.

Rosamund's heart soared at the sight and the nearness of him and every fiber of her being begged to run into his arms and bury her head in the smell of his chest. This time, however, she held back. She needed to keep her senses intact if they were ever going to talk and come to a resolution about their future together.

"Did….did he say anything else in his letter?" She asked with immense trepidation. She still had not come to a decision about whether or not to tell him about Edith. Her immeasurable debt to Cora and Robert seemed to outweigh any reason for him to know about his child, yet a year spent in secrecy and deceit had developed within her a craving for open truthfulness.

Freddie's eyebrows drew towards each other in concern.

"Not really, although he did say that you had been through a difficult time of it. Rosamund, I'm so sorry for our fight, for this whole misunderstanding. I've missed you so, my darling," he murmured as he stretched out an enticing hand to cup her cheek.

Rosamund swayed and battled for control of the desire broiling her skin at the light touch.

"I've missed you too," she replied sincerely, placing a hand over his on her face and thrilling at the same electric spark that ignited with their contact. "So much has happened, so much has changed. I've changed, more than I can ever tell you. Why didn't you write to me, if there really wasn't anyone else? There….isn't someone else, is there?" She drew back, the idea that he might not truly be free invading the kinetic heat between them.

"No, of course not!" Freddie responded with a touch of defensiveness. "I wanted to write, honestly, but between school and helping out at the farm at home, life just got so….complicated, I could barely keep my head above water. The workload of the last term was absolutely mad, I feel as though I'm just now poking my head out of a dark tunnel and into the sunlight. I passed all my final examinations and finally I'm free!"

He picked her up and lifted her into the sky, spinning her around like a glad child with a new toy. As he set her down, their eyes locked and all her reserve melted like the pockets of snow tucked around the corners of the road. His lips rushed for hers and the sensible words that were poised to escape from them vanished into retreat. As Venus glinted her supervising approval from the twilight sky above, they remained locked in reunited glory until at last they broke apart, still clinging to each other's hands in breathless disbelief. Freddie was the first to break the reverent silence.

"I haven't even told you the best part yet," he crowed. "A chum of mine at Oxford put me in touch with his uncle, a Scottish chap named John Muir. The man's explored all over the Western half of the United States, all the way to the Pacific Ocean and now he wants to form an association to write about the natural beauty of the continent and work with the United States government in establishing protected wildlife grounds and nature reserves. His trouble is, he hates to write and he's looking for someone with a literary background to put together the pamphlets and draft legislative proposals, that kind of thing and he's asked me to do it! I'll get paid to travel all over the magnificent wilderness and write about it, it's a dream come true."

The news threw Rosamund off balance and she staggered back from the haze of his arms. It seemed impossible for both of their dreams to come true and coexist simultaneously.

"That's, that's wonderful, darling…" she spluttered, gathering all her strength not to appear as dismayed as she felt. "I'm so happy for you, truly, but…where does that leave us?"

He frowned petulantly at her apparent unwillingness to join in his celebration.

"I hadn't factored all that in yet, I didn't even think there was an us until just a few moments ago. But you…well you can come to the States with me, of course. Just think of what a grand adventure it will be. Muir wrote to me about a gentleman from New York, Roosevelt or something like that, who owned a ranch out West before the blizzard of '87 and he says there's nothing so amazing as being out in the untamed glory of the plains and the majesty of the mountains. The endeavor to preserve some of the most beautiful natural landscapes in the world for future generations is the most noble thing I could ever hope to be a part of and I want you to be a part of it too. Say you will come with me, darling, please?"

His plea resonated with her restless longing for travel and exploration but the nagging tug of her incipient realistic side could not allow her to remove all practicality from the equation.

Rosamund replied to his ebullience with cautious encouragement, "I would love nothing more but I'm not sure how it all would work. Do they even allow women on these types of expeditions? Would….would we need to be married if we were travelling and staying together?"

She spoke as fearfully as a hunter creeping towards a deer in the forest, terrified of spooking the object of her desire into flight with each cracking syllable underfoot. He groaned in exasperation and ran both his hands through his hair, causing it to stick rakishly up in the air in fitting preparation for the wildness of his new career path.

"I don't know, I don't know anything yet, this is all happening so fast." He narrowed his clear eyes at her as if trying to size up this new Rosamund, no longer the starry-eyed dream chaser he had expected to follow him heedlessly into the sunset. "I have been working so hard for so long, this is the time in my life when I want to be free and make my own decisions without anyone else telling me what to do. I just want to breathe and explore and see the world without someone reminding me of my obligations or my sense of duty. I thought you would understand that, I thought you wanted to be free from all of this," he exhorted as he gestured back to the manor house. He encapsulated her hands in his and searched deep in her eyes. "I thought you wanted to be with me, is that still what you want?"

Rosamund was powerless to deny the commands of her heart any longer and she conceded to his ardent entreaties.

"Yes, yes, my love. Of course, I want to be with you, it's all I've wanted ever since we first met here almost a year ago. When do you, I mean, we leave?"

He seized her in his arms and covered her face with giddy kisses.

"That's why I came today. The ship bound for New York leaves tomorrow morning. I'm catching the train to London tonight, then heading to Southampton at first light. I know you will need to gather your things but if you take the train in the morning, you should be able to meet me at Southampton before the boat departs at nine. Darling Rosamund, you've made me the happiest man alive. I don't know how any of this will work out but I know that I can't bear to lose you again." He collected a deep breath and at last professed the words she had dreamed of him saying for so long. "I love you, I always have and I always will. I must go, the train will be leaving soon and I can't miss it. Kiss me one more time to last me until I see you again."

His mouth captured hers with enough fervent desire to render her breathless for several minutes after he was already gone. The sky was now completely dark but a gathering of wispy storm clouds precluded the emergence of stars she looked up to for guidance. The magic spell he had cast with his impassioned words had fallen away with his absence and even though she now seemed to possess the love she had searched for all her life, in the darkness she felt more alone and lost than ever before.

Chapter 16

Back in her room, Rosamund dragged a valise from the recesses of her closet and blindly stuffed it with several day gowns and a few shifts for sleeping. She moved quickly and haphazardly, afraid to stop for even a minute to think about all that was happening. Grabbing the pearl necklace that was the last gift her father had given her and a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice from her mantelpiece, she heaved the lid of the valise shut with monumental effort and fixed the clasp with a sense of finality. Just then, an oddly formal knock at the door told her that someone who wasn't Elsie was requesting entrance. Rosamund dropped the valise behind her vanity chair and called out, "come in."

To her heart stopping alarm, Lady Violet entered the room, seeming smaller and disconcertingly fragile in her light green Oriental patterned dressing gown. Rosamund noticed that the grey streaks that had previously served as tiny flecks of lightness in the deep brown of the countess's hair now cast their silvery halo over the whole of her mother's head. She realized with a prick of guilt that over the last several months she had barely exchanged more than cursory greetings with the woman who had given birth to her. Despite the alienation Rosamund had deliberately sought since learning of the great Russian affair, her stomach still lurched at the thought that this might be the last time they would speak to one another. Lady Violet took in the whole of the room with her omniscient stare, seeming to tarry at the open closet doors and the packed valise sticking awkwardly out from behind the tall legs of the chair. She nodded with what seemed to be knowing acceptance before speaking.

"Rosamund dear, I noticed you weren't at dinner tonight and Elsie informed us that you were feeling unwell. Is everything all right or shall I send for Dr. Clarkson?"

Rosamund swallowed, eternally grateful for Elsie's cunningly adept quickness of thought.

"It's-I'm fine, now, Mama, thank you. It was just a headache, I'm doing much better now."

Lady Violet turned to leave but then stopped at the door. She crossed the room to where Rosamund stood in a state of perplexed anxiety and sat at the foot of the bed. There was deliberation in her eyes but when she again spoke, her voice was the essence of calm assuredness.

"Rosamund, I know that I'm not always an easy person to talk to and you and I have had our….let's say, challenges in communication over the last several years, especially after your father passed away. He always knew just how to get through to you, whereas I felt that every word I ever said to you was somehow perceived as an attack if you even paid attention to what I was saying at all. That being said, I am not wholly unaware that you have been through a year of upheaval and change. I don't know all the details and frankly, I don't believe that I want to know everything but I am still your mother and that position discharges me with the duty of trying to guide you through life in the best way that I know how. You and I are very different people and while my methods haven't always proved effective," she sighed regretfully, "my aim was always guided by love. A mother's love may not always come across as benevolent or nurturing, goodness knows those are not qualities that readily come to mind when one is describing me, I acknowledge that, but all I ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy and healthy."

Rosamund opened her mouth to interject but Lady Violet continued on heedlessly.

"There was a time in my life when I had to make a choice. You don't need to know the whole story but I was forced to choose between the call of my heart and the call of my head. I have always believed that honor and duty are values which outlast the fleeting passions that fade with time and accompanying familiarity but something happened that made me doubt those values, if only very briefly. I was blinded by the temptation to let my emotions make my decisions for me and it almost cost me everything I hold very, very dear."

She stopped to hold Rosamund's gaze momentarily, then regrouped her momentum to drive her thesis to its conclusion.

"I think that is partly why I have been so hard on you over the years, so critical of your daydreaming and your romantic view of life. These are not negative traits, my dear but they can lead you into dangerous territory if not tempered by reason and responsibility. I cannot make your decisions for you, nor do I want to but I will leave you with the wisdom gained from my own experiences and mistakes. We will only find true, lasting love when we are capable of discerning the difference between what we want and what we need and then choosing the latter if it differs from the former. Love comes and goes in many different forms throughout our lives but the comforts of intimacy and fulfillment will only come from a love that is chosen with clear eyes instead of a blinded heart. You have matured a great deal in the last year, I have seen you change in how you view the world and take account of others in it. No matter what you choose, I am very proud that you are my daughter."

Having imparted as much maternal sentiment within the span of five minutes as she had within the sum of Rosamund's eighteen years of life, Lady Violet floated ethereally from the room. Her words hung potently in the air, seeping through the thin barrier separating Rosamund's fanciful plans from harsh reality. Was she simply repeating her mother's past mistakes, trading the duties and devotion of the love of family for the siren promise of the heart's yearning? The choice had seemed so simple and obvious when she was wrapped in Freddie's arms but now the road ahead twisted and forked as one path led to the dark forests of uncharted and untested bonds of soul filling destiny, while the other circled back to the solid ground of the family she knew she could trust and a man she knew would never let her down. The weight of sleeplessness impressed itself on her mind and she fell into bed, too tired to wrestle with herself any longer. Perhaps the fresh light of morning would highlight the way she was meant to go.

After a night spent staring into the abyss of a life altering decision, Rosamund rose from her bed, with a head that was throbbing from exhaustion but determinedly clear on the action she was to take next. She rang for Elsie to help her change and as the maid assisted her with her modest travel suit, Rosamund filled her in on what she was about to do. Elsie's transparent face displayed without artifice her concern on the enormity of the decision Rosamund had made but she simply nodded and carried Rosamund's valise downstairs where the coach was waiting. Before she could leave, there was one final thing left to do.

The nursery was still dark when Rosamund crept in to peer over the crib at Edith's tiny body, arms flung over her head in the picture of relaxed contentment. Rosamund laid her hand on the fluffy mounds of copper hair curling in wisps on the wide forehead that had yet to manifest the lines of life's hardships. She bent over and kissed the eyes that were shut to the waking world, memorizing the details of every facial feature, then swiftly darted out the door before she could change her mind. It was early enough for the house to be as still as Rosamund had ever seen it, even the portraits in the hall seemed to evacuate their usual alertness for the extreme early hour. She snuck past their unseeing stares and into the library where she removed two sheets of papers and a pen from the desk drawers. In her most carefully elegant handwriting, she inscribed "I love you" on one side of each paper. She flipped one of the sheets over and scribbled an addendum on the back of it. Rosamund folded both missive neatly and tucked them in her small handbag before climbing into the carriage next to Elsie. The footman jostled them down the path to the train station.

The port at Southampton was heavy with a layer of morning fog and a slight mist of rain drizzled around the workers loading their freight onto the massive ocean liners preparing to set sail. She walked through the obstacle course of shipping crates and steamer trunks until she saw his tall figure appearing out of the haze. Freddie's face brightened when he saw the slight feminine silhouette coming straight towards him, then frowned with confusion when she stopped just short of his outstretched arms and handed him a folded sheet of paper. His lips read the message of love with a smile hovering about their corners, then the curve fell ever downwards as he turned the paper over to read the back where it simply said, "I'm sorry, I can't." Elsie waited as instructed to be certain the full content of the letter was received and understood, then faded back into the vapors that were just starting to lift as the ocean liner's foghorn signaled its readiness to leave.

Rosamund's carriage came to a halt at the elegant brick house at the corner of Crane Street. The sun was coming into the glory of midmorning fullness, brightening the green of Hyde Park around the corner to a resplendent glowing jade. She walked deliberately up the concrete steps and took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. She was briefly stunned by the appearance of Marmaduke himself and not a footman called to answer the door. Recovering quickly, she reached into her bag and withdrew the letter. He accepted it with wariness, as though steeling himself for inevitable rejection. He looked down to read the inscription, then looked into Rosamund's eyes with joy and disbelief.

"My love, does this mean what I think it means?" He asked, the paper quivering in his hands.

Rosamund nodded and replied with conviction, "Yes, I will marry you. You are the man I choose to spend the rest of my life with."

Marmaduke's eyes lit with a blaze of unbridled happiness and as his arms went to circle around her waist, she put both her hands on his chest to halt his display of affection.

"I do have one condition. I want to travel and see the world with you and I know we will have an extraordinary life together. However, I have realized over the last few months how much a part of me my family is, my mother, my brother, and especially my….nieces. I want us all to be a family who can rely on one another, a family who will stand strong together no matter what life throws at us. I want my nieces to know me and to know that they can count on me to always be there for them. That means we will need to remain in London or somewhere close by where I can spend whatever time it takes to build that trust between us all. Will that suit you, even if it means having to give up potential business pursuits that could take us far away?" Rosamund felt the reliable thud of his heart speeding up beneath her palms.

The olive skin of his temples creased and he threw back his head with roar of relieved laughter.

"Is that all? Rosamund, I would live in a shack in Timbuktu if you were there with me. I like your family, I always have and if they are a part of you, they are a part of me too. You are the beat of my heart and the light in my soul and I cannot wait to start making each one of your dreams come true."

He placed both of his hands on her face and gently lifted her lips to his in witness to the hopeful covenant they were making as two becoming one. The letter fluttered to the ground and landed with the blank side facing up towards them, ready for the next chapter in their own story of real love ever after.


End file.
